The Hands of the King
by Finfinfin1
Summary: The Three Hunters from Helms Deep to the Paths of the Dead. A story of home, friendship and betrayal. Gimli goes looking for Legolas in the aftermath of the battle of Helm's Deep and all is not well when he finds him.
1. Chapter 1

**Authors Note: A little present for Unnamed Element. The three Hunters as you asked for. Hopefully this will answer some of your questions...but it may well just end up creating more of then I'm afraid! Hope you like it :)**

I am looking for Legolas.

Damn his elusive elvish hide. Does he not know I am worried for him?

Helms Deep is awash with death and loss and he is somewhere amongst it. I have not seen him for hours, not since we were thrust away from each other by that surge of relief, of new men and the wizard, come to save us at the end of the battle.

He was alive then and so logic tells me he must be alive now. He is not on the battlefield. No one has seen him. He must be within the keep itself, but for the life of me I cannot find him.

Aragorn is just as hard to find. At first they tell me he is closeted with the King of this place, and Gandalf, in a meeting but when I go there I find he is, in fact, with the Healers and they are in chaos. There are bodies everywhere, men moaning and cries of pain. I am beyond uncomfortable every single minute I am there searching for him. The relief when I find him is immense.

"Aragorn!" I call across the room and he raises his head. "Have you seen the elf?" He shrugs, but that is not a good enough answer for me and so I push through the crowds towards him.

"Have you seen the elf?" I repeat my question in his ear when I am near.

"No." He answers me with a frown. "He has not been here."

"I have not laid eyes on him since the end of the battle and he is nowhere I can think of to look for him." I sound anxious, I know it, but that is because I am.

"Was he well when you saw him?" He asks with some concern.

"As far I could tell. We were separated near the end."

"And he is not on the battlefield, you have looked?" My anxiety is catching it seems.

"I have scoured it. He is not there. Not where we were fighting."

And Aragorn visibly relaxes.

"Then wherever he is, he is most likely well for he is not here...amongst this..." He waves his hand hopelessly towards the chaos of broken men. "And no one has mentioned him so he has not been here either. He sticks out like a sore thumb Gimli. Surely you can find him. Your room?"

I roll my eyes at him. I know he is tired but that is just ridiculous. Of course I have looked there.

"The stables? The kitchens?"

I shake my head at all his suggestions for they are obvious and have already proved futile.

"He has likely gone to seek some quiet then. Try the high places."

"The high places?"

"Where else would you find a Woodelf?" He smiles, and turns back to his patient, rubbing his hand over his eyes. He really should get some sleep.

And so I find myself trudging up endless stairs, in the dreary dawn light, looking for an elf who obviously does not want to be found. I never imagined this place would have so many stairs but I _do_ know I have had enough. My legs are tired—in fact all of me is tired—and I want some sleep.

In the end, when I find him, I almost miss him. He is sitting against the wall in the dark shadow where the light does not reach and I notice him only because he glows. So strange are these elves, with their internal lights.

"Legolas!" Now I have stumbled upon him my tension turns to anger—for why has he let my spend my time on this wild goose chase? "What are you doing here?"

"So you have found me." He replies and he sounds as tired as I feel. There is something in his voice, an edge, a catch, a feeling, which makes me stop and look again.

He is pale, but he is always pale, and he smiles up at me but it is not his usual smile. There is no life to it. The battle has drained him. My anger disappears as soon as it arrived and instead of more shouting I sit myself beside him.

I repeat myself but my voice is softer this time.

"Why are you here?"

"There are too many Men down there Gimli. They are so loud, and they smell." He wrinkles his nose in disgust and I have to agree with him on that one. The men do smell and it is not pleasant.

"So you hide yourself away in the dark and expect me to climb all over this forsaken place looking for you?"

I give him a nudge then, with my shoulder against his to let him know I am not best pleased with him. At least I was not, for now I have found him I am actually very pleased indeed.

He cannot hide the hiss of pain that follows.

"You are hurt!" I turn on him with accusation and reach for his arm for now I can feel the soft, sticky wetness of blood seeping though my tunic where it rests against his. But he flinches away from me.

"Somewhat." He says, and now that I am looking I see, in the slowly brightening light, his whole side is blood.

"What are you doing you fool!" I leap to my feet. "Why are you sitting up here? You should be with the healers."

"It seems I am stuck." The look he gives me then is a rueful one.

"Stuck? Now is not the time for riddles, Legolas." He is beyond frustrating, this elf of mine.

He sighs then, long and deeply and I realise, now I am finally paying attention, I can hear his breathing and that is not good. Legolas is graceful and elegant. He moves without a sound and I can sit next to him and hear not so much as a whisper of air from his lungs. Not now though. Now his breathing is—by his standards—noisy. I curse my inattention. How could I have not noticed this?

"I thought this was less than it is. There is poison here and it has taken me unawares. It bleeds too much Gimli... I find I cannot get down."

To say I am alarmed is an understatement.

"Ah Legolas," I could shout and yell at him about his foolishness but that will get us nowhere. Instead I smile at him sadly. "A woodelf who cannot climb? That is a tragedy indeed."

I will get him down from here and find him some help, although just now, help seems a long way away.

"I will take you to the healers then." I say as I haul him to his feet. It is a clumsy business and I know I hurt him.

"No!" He pulls himself away from me which is a mistake. He sways upon his feet and has to reach out with his good hand for the wall to steady himself. If the situation was not so dire I would laugh.

"I will not go there Gimli!" he cries as he stands there so patently needing their assistance. "There are so many Men and they are all—" he cuts himself off and I remember the hideousness of it when I went searching for Aragorn. Too many Men indeed for an ailing elf to deal with. Very well I will think of something else.

"Our room then." I say as I lean him against me and we start our slow descent. "Our room, and I will call Aragorn." He does not answer but I will take that as a yes.

We must be a comic sight I think to myself as I carefully manoeuvre him down the stairs. Our difference in heights makes what should be a simple task, extremely difficult. He leans far too much of his weight onto me. Far too much because it makes me aware of just how ill he must be. For he has always been the stronger—until now. I find I do not like being the one he leans on. I do not like it at all. Not because I am not willing to be his support but because he should not be this way. It is not what he is meant to be.

"Did you have to climb quite this high?" I grumble to myself, as we find ourselves at the top of yet another flight of stairs. I know he is in bad shape when he is silent. Legolas never misses a chance to tease.

It is not until I get him back to the room and see him out of the shadows and into the light that I realise exactly how bad it is. Pale does not even begin to describe him and his breathing is now laboured, even for a dwarf, let alone an elf.

"I am going for Aragorn," I say rather more panicked than I would like. "Do not move from here, Legolas!"

And he gives me a weak smile from where he sits upon the bed, his injured arm laying motionless across his lap while the other clutches desperately to the still oozing wound.

"Where would I go, Gimli?" he asks, exhaustion wrought upon his face and I see he is right. He could not walk out of here if he tried.

I am heading for the Healer's when a thought grabs me. I do not even know why I think it—perhaps the elf's mind magic is affecting me? But out of the blue I wonder if Aragorn has seen sense and retired to bed? It is much closer and will be easier to find him there and so that is where I head.

They have given him a much larger, more luxurious room than us and he winced and complained when he saw it. He is not much for airs and graces and I like that about him. The room is warmer too I noticed when we visited. It seems a potential King in waiting deserves more heat than a dwarf and an elf.

Please let him be here, please, I think as I bang on the door in desperation. It will take so much longer to search that horrendous hall of dying men. And my prayers are answered this time, for he opens the door bewildered and bemused.

"Gimli! What is it you want?" he asks and I hear the hint of annoyance in his voice,

"I have found the elf!" I cry and he smiles then.

"Well I am pleased," he says firmly, "Thank you for telling me. Now tell him to get some sleep." and he begins to shut the door in my face.

"No! Aragorn, you are not understanding me." I wedge my foot in the door. I know he is tired but I will not be dismissed. "He needs you."

"I will see him later then," he murmurs and I realise he is not truly listening, "when I wake... Tell him I will see him then."

"Aragorn! He is hurt. He will not go to the healers. He _needs_ you."

He is suddenly all attention, his tiredness thrown aside.

"Hurt? In what way? Where did you find him?" He turns from the door and rummages in his pack, for healing supplies I imagine.

"He is bleeding..." I say rather lamely as I realise in my hurry I have not assessed his injury at all. "His arm, he says poison... He looks dreadful. He was, as you said...in the high places."

Aragorn turns to look at me then in shock. "Why was he not here recieving aid?"

"I do not know!" I throw my arms in the air in frustration. "Why do you expect me to understand this elf? He makes no sense to me. There were too many Men, he said... He objected to their smell." and Aragorn sighs and rubs his forehead in tiredness. I do feel rather sorry for him at that moment.

"Very well," he says eventually, obviously satisfied he has everything he will need. "Let us go. If there is poison we likely are running short of time." And he is off, in front of me, his last words ringing like a warning in my ears.

Running out of time? That cannot be good.

I cannot, I absolutely cannot, lose my Elf.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

I follow Aragorn as he strides towards our room and my heart thuds as his words circle their way around my consciousness. 'We likely are running out of time' Let it not be true.

Legolas is, when we arrive breathless and anxious, still sitting upon the bed but he has slumped against the wall as if his energy deserted him suddenly and he collapsed like a house of cards. His eyes are closed, it is so strange to see him thus, and he looks ghastly. Beside me I hear Aragorn muffle a gasp.

He moves towards our friend, places a hand then on Legolas' good shoulder.

"Legolas?"

And the elf startles. Eyes fly open as he jerks upright with a cry of pain. His breath comes in short, catching, gasps. His eyes, at first, are confused. I have not been that long getting help and I wonder where his mind has been roaming. I do not like seeing him leaning so badly against the stone and so I manoeuvre myself between his body and the wall to sit beside him and allow him to sit straighter, more upright against me.

"It is only Aragorn" I say, "I have bought Aragorn to you."

"Let me see what you have done." Aragorn says gently as he takes the elf's injured arm in his hands.

"Aragorn..." Legolas finally regains control of his mind and realises who is there. "Aragorn... I am not well."

He is the master of stating the obvious.

"That is quite apparent, even to me," Aragorn says with a gentle smile. "So tell me, my friend why I did not see you earlier, with the healers? Why did Gimli have to climb to the heights to find you?"

"Have you been there?" Legolas says with alarm, "Have you seen that place? There are Men everywhere, the noise... They are... It was... I could not."

"It might have been better for you if you had." Aragorn looks very grim as he speaks and it worries me, even though Legolas seems to have recovered slightly these last few minutes.

Between us we extract the elf from his clothing exposing the jagged laceration now adorning his upper arm and it does not escape my notice that Aragorn screws his face up when he sees it.

"When did you get this?" he asks.

"Does it matter?" Legolas' sounds very tired. As if simply saying the words is too much for him.

"Yes, It matters! I need to know how long this dratted poison has had to wend its way through your body."

I try to prompt him then, to jog his memory.

"After we rode out lad? Near the end of the battle?" For surely it was then, after we had been separated.

He frowns in concentration. It seems maintaining his thoughts is proving difficult.

"No..." he says eventually, "On the walls."

"That long!" Aragorn is horrified. "Legolas that was hours ago. What were you thinking? You are no novice. You know as well as I do the importance of not neglecting a wound."

I stare at Legolas in shock. When we were on the walls? It could not have been, for surely I would have known. Surely I would not have missed this. But it is obvious I have and I am shamed. What kind of friend am I?

"I thought it was trivial." Legolas answers, interrupting my thoughts. "I went to the healers but it was too much... And they would not understand me anyway. What do they know of elves? They look at me as if I am going to eat them. I thought I could wait for you. The poison is a slow one. It took me by surprise and then..." He stops to catch his breath. "Then it was too late. It began to bleed and it bled too much."

"Trivial or not you know better. For this very reason."

I am astounded at Aragorn then. Has he lost his mind? I thought he had some skill in healing? For this wound in front of my eyes is not trivial by anyone's description. Why does he not pull Legolas up on that alone?

He pushes a clean white cloth into my hand and has me press it against the wound. There is soon a spread of red staining the once pristine white despite my firm pressure. Aragorn meanwhile rummages through the bag he has bought with him pulling out a vial of some blue liquid and he uncorks it.

"I must open the wound and clean it but first I need you to drink this," he says to Legolas firmly.

"What is it?" Legolas says, looking at the vial through half-lidded eyes. "Is it for the pain?"

"It is a sedative."

Legolas rears away pulling my hand from his wound as he does so. There is still some strenght left in him.

"I will not!" he cries. "I will not drink that. I do not need it. Do what you wish, Aragorn and I will stay as still as I can."

Aragorn sighs then and runs his hand through his hair in exasperation.

"I _must_ do a through job Legolas. I need you asleep for this or I may miss something. Be sensible. We have wasted enough time as it is. I am not questioning your strength or your moral fortitude, but I cannot do this properly with you awake."

I clasp the hand of the elf beside me. Why is he refusing this? Why make things more difficult than they already are?

"I cannot!" He turns to me and his eyes are wild. "Do not ask this of me. I will not put my fate in the hands of others while I know not what is done to me. Not in this place where there are none of my kind to watch over me!" He spins back to face Aragorn. "Do not ask this of me, Aragorn!"

"I do not ask it lightly, Legolas. Believe me. I _need_ you to do this."

Aragorn shoots me a look then, over the elf's head, and I know what it is he is telling me. He intends to force the sedative upon him. He asks me to prepare myself to hold him down. I do not want to do this. It seems a betrayal and I know we will pay for it later. He will not forgive it easily. So I try then, one last time to gain some cooperation from Legolas. Anything to avoid inflicting this upon my friend.

Beneath my fingers I feel the trill of his pulse as it races at speed and I realise he is terrified. I do not understand this reaction but for him the fear is real.

"Legolas, it is Aragorn who asks this. . . Aragorn! He will not harm you. And I will be here. I promise I will watch over you as vigilantly as any of your people. No one will harm you while I am here. You must trust us."

"I cannot Gimli. I cannot do this." He will not bend.

It is while I distract him with my reassurances that Aragorn makes his move. He gives me a nod and then, before the elf knows what hit him, before he has even drawn breath to resist, we have him pinned to the bed. He is ill, that much is starkly apparent, else there is no way we could have achieved that.

Still despite his lack of strength he fights like a demon to be free.

The first dose of sedative Aragorn hoped to get down him, before he knew what we did, is spat back in his face, and then Legolas clamps his mouth firmly shut. He will not give in, he is such a stubborn creature. My heart bleeds for him as I restrain him. I hope Aragorn is right, I hope this is justified. I have no choice but to trust in his judgement. He is a talented healer. He would not hurt Legolas unnecessarily, at least I keep telling myself that,

I watch as he pinches the elf's nose tight, forcing him to open his mouth to breathe. Legolas is so determined at one point I think he will let himself turn blue rather than breathe but reflexes take over to save him and he opens his mouth with a gasp.

Quick as a flash Aragorn is there, the liquid poured in, and he holds Legolas' mouth shut tight to prevent himself getting another drenching.

"Damn you, Legolas. Swallow it!" he snaps as the elf still resists.

But eventually enough of it has gone down that his thrashing becomes less coordinated, his limbs more sluggish and his eyes droop closed. Not before Aragorn has taken a painful elbow to the cheek however.

I lift my head then and give Aragorn a stare.

"This had best be necessary. I am not happy doing this and he will make us pay for this later," I tell him.

"Believe me I am no happier than you." He rubs his face where the elbow made contact. "There is something odd here Gimli, Something more than poison. I had no choice. I know he will resent me later. It will not be pretty."

He moves quickly then, now we have the elf subdued. I am impressed with his skills. He is delft and accurate and wastes no time at all, but he digs deep. Far deeper than I expected. It makes my eyes water to watch him. He is swearing to himself as he does so.

"There is something here!" He cries at last. "I thought so. Hold this Gimli and help me see." He thrusts some kind of metal instrument in my hand then so I can hold muscle back to allow him a better view. It seems like an invasion. I did not need this intimate a knowledge of the elf's anatomy!

"I have it!" With a spurt of blood he pulls a long metal shard from the wound. It is black and evil and I imagine I hear it hissing with venom as he throws it across the floor.

It sickens me to think Legolas, such a creature of light, has had that inside him.

"A splinter from whatever did this," Aragorn says to me as I stare at it in horror. "It had worked it's way almost to his shoulder and severed some of the vessels. That is why he bled so."

"It is pure evil." I say and I turn my eyes away. I do not wish to look at it any longer.

"And that is why he was so ill," Aragorn continues. "You see now why I needed him sedated, why I could not wait. There was no time. If only he had come to me earlier."

Now the thing is out it takes him no time at all to repair the damage. To gently washout the tissues and pull them back together with neat tidy stitches and eventually he sits back in relief and wipes his brow.

"Thank goodness that is done." He says to me with the faintest of smiles.

"I am going to sleep now Gimli," he pulls himself to his feet, "for I am exhausted and Gandalf wishes us to ride to Isengard this evening. Rest too if you can for I would have you with me."

"This evening!" I cry in alarm and I look anxiously at the unconscious elf beside me. "Aragorn, I would go with you if I could but I can not leave him. Not alone and ill here amongst the men. He is not at ease with them."

Aragorn throws the elf a smile full of affection.

"Oh he will come with us."

He has obviously lost his mind for the elf will never in a million years be ready to travel anywhere this evening. I let it slide however. If Aragorn is really that weary that he fools himself into thinking this then I am not going to argue now.

"Keep him still," he says then pausing at the door before he leaves. "I gave him far too much of that sedative. He will probably sleep for hours. But..." He shrugged his shoulders ruefully. "I could hardly titrate it accurately given the circumstances. Try to convince him not to run around the keep when he wakes."

I watch him go then shoulders slumped with tiredness and I hope he manages to get some rest, then I settle myself down beside Legolas to watch him.

I am not afraid of the elf escaping me. He could barely stand before we held him down.

He will not be able to run anywhere.

Not for a long time.


	3. Chapter 3

I am dreaming of home. Of soft beds, warm fires, and people who make sense. It is pleasant and I do not want to leave but someone calls my name. Faintly at first but then slowly more insistent until I cannot ignore it.

It is not until I feel the soft brush of slender fingers across my face that I come to my senses. Legolas! I am supposed to be watching him. And I open my eyes with a start.

He is there, right in front of me. Green eyes fixed upon mine, head tilted to the side quizzically as if he can not quite understand me, and when he sees my eyes open, a wide smile splits his face in two.

"You are awake!" he cries. "I thought I would never rouse you."

For a moment I am confused. What is going on? Why is he talking to me as if nothing has happened? Why does he look so well—did I dream his injury? I look around the room anxiously to see if I am, in fact, where I thought I was.

"We are at Helms Deep. A place in Rohan. We fought a battle here." He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder and speaks to me as if I am an infant.

"I _know_ that!" I shake his hand off in frustration. Why is he treating me like an invalid? It should be the other way around.

"Well that is good." He goes back to beaming at me instead.

He is kneeling on the bed in front of me. Hands on his knees. The plain cotton shirt I put on him after Aragorn left swamps him. His hair is a dishevelled mess and he looks so young. I see the bandage around his arm. So I was not dreaming then. He is injured.

I can not have been asleep that long, a few hours only. Before he could not even sit straight. I frown at him then, trying to work out what has been going on while I slept,

"What has happened Legolas?"

His eyes open wide in surprise.

"I do not know," he says, "I hoped you might tell me. . . Where is Aragorn?"

I can only stare back at him in disbelief. Where is the raging anger I expected after Aragorn and I held him down? Where is the resentment? Has he forgotten we did that?

It seems not, for he brings it up immediately.

"You said you would watch over me Gimli. You promised me. But now you do not know what has happened. I could have been murdered while I slept!"

I feel a surge of guilt for I did promise him, I did. And I have slept on my watch. He looks at me as if I have betrayed him.

"I do not think anyone would have murdered you Legolas." I mumble, but I cannot look him in the eye. I drop my head.

I feel then the soft touch of his hand upon my arm.

"It is alright Gimli. It is enough that you were here."

I look up in confusion for this is not what I had prepared myself for. What is this tenderness and forgiveness when I expected anger? What is this seeming good health when I expected illness and pain?

"Why are you not angry?" I ask, trying to find an explanation for the strangeness. "After what Aragorn and I did to you I thought you would be." In fact angry does not begin to describe the rage I thought I would face for our betrayal. No matter how necessary it was.

It is his turn now to drop his head and the hand laid on my arm withdraws.

"That was embarrassing." He says in barely a whisper and I see his cheeks flame red. Too late I realise he is ashamed.

"Forgive me Gimli," he continues softly. "My behaviour was childish and foolish . . . I do not find it easy . . . Handing control of my fate to others."

I did not wish to shame him and I am appalled.

"I will not forgive you," I says strongly, "for there is nothing to forgive, but I must admit, I do not understand. Aragorn and I were here. We would always keep you safe."

He is quiet then for quite awhile and he will not meet my gaze. He sits still, on the bed, arms about his knees. He reminds me of a sparrow huddled on the side of the roof seeking shelter against the storm and I feel sorry for him. I know he is not as young as he looks but at the moment it is hard to remember that. He seems barely more than a boy.

"I do not like the thought of it." He says eventually. "Not knowing. And it is so strange here. There is no one who _knows_ me. No one who can _feel_ me. I could not do it, allow myself to be so vulnerable. I do trust you Gimli."

I am not understanding. So often I do not understand him.

"I know you." I reply for I think I do ... Or I am beginning to. But he shakes his head.

"You do not know... You do not know my heart. You cannot feel it Gimli, my fea." He presses his hand against his chest where his heart beats. "You hear my words but you cannot hear the heart of me."

I grasp his hands between mine then for it seems important that he truly listens to what it is I have to say next. I know where he is coming from now for I am there myself, but he is also wrong. He does not understand how my mortal mind works and he must. It will make him feel less alone.

"We are the same in this Legolas, you and I. Adrift in a world that is not our own, without family or friends or even one single other who thinks as we do. There are days when I wake and Aragorn is Aragorn, your mind is playing in the trees, and I am a dwarf and I have no one with which I can share the thrum of the stone. But I _do_ know you. I _can_ feel your heart, although I know it is not in the way you are used to. You were afraid. Not the fear we all swallow when we stand in battle and face our death but a wild, chaotic fear, and one you could not control—am I right?"

He gives me a look of pure astonishment and starts to withdraw his hands though I do not let him.

"How did you know?"

"Because I could feel it in every muscle of your body. Because it was written in your face, because I could see it in your eyes. I cannot feel your spirit Legolas, I know, not as you are used to. But I can still see your heart. As can Aragorn, even more than I, I think, if you chose to show it to us."

For though I consider myself adept at reading the hearts and minds of others the elf is often a closed book, hiding himself behind a wall of blankness. Last night his walls were down and I could read him as easily as one of my own folk. All I need is for him to have the courage to let me in.

He studies me then, eyes unblinking, head tilted as he so often does when he is considering something. I do think this is a new concept for him. That his external blankness is, perhaps, only because with his folk he does not have to show his feelings so clearly to others for they can just reach in and find them. I see the moment he decides to tuck this idea away in his head to examine it later.

I receive the smallest of smiles then. An apology of sorts I think.

"In truth Gimli, At home, in the wood, I am not much better." It is a grudging admission of weakness. "I hate the healers and the way they commandeer your body as if it was not your own. I always have. They say I am untreatable."

"Untreatable? But you have fought long in the woods!" I know he has for he has told me. "How do you get treatment when you need it? Surely they do not abandon you?"

"Abandon me? No! They call my father."

"Because he is intimidating and dictatorial so not even the most recalcitrant elf would disobey him?" Perhaps that is why the Elvenking has such a reputation... Because he has Legolas to control?

"No. . ." Legolas laughs softly then and his face lights up as he speaks. "Because he is my _father,_ and I know he will keep me safe."

I have heard much of his father, from my own father, and it is none of it good. I have an image of him in my mind as clear as crystal. Rude, arrogant, unreasonable, I thought I knew him. But the picture Legolas paints for me now, with those few words of a father caring for his frightened son does not fit at all. I am in the midst of contemplating that when Legolas takes me unawares.

He launches himself off the bed. Unfolding his legs and landing gently on the floor beside me. He sways briefly as he does so, reaching out his hand to steady himself against the bed. It is the briefest of moments but I see it.

"Legolas!" I cry. "What are you doing?"

"Food." He grins back at me. He has obviously decided any deep discussion is at an end. "I am hungry. Are you not? There must be some food somewhere in this place. Shall we find it?"

"You are not well. You should not be on your feet. Be sensible!"

He looks at me then as if I am the one who behaves oddly.

"I _was_ not well but now I am."

"Do not be ridiculous Legolas." Briefly I am annoyed with him but then I remember my oversight earlier not assessing his wound. Perhaps I make the same error here and he has a fever muddling his brain, causing him to think he is stronger than he is. He does not look fevered but who am I to know what a fevered elf looks like. Perhaps a gentler touch is the way to go?

"Legolas..." I am very slow and gentle in my speech. "Aragorn said I must keep you still. He did not want you 'running about the keep'. He is a healer and you must listen to what he says."

But he does not listen. He just frowns at me in frustration.

"He meant that before, when I was ill. Not now!"

"Before _is_ now, Legolas. It has been only a few hours no more." There is obviously

Something wrong with his mind for he will not listen to commonsense.

"Yes hours, Gimli, it has been hours!" He flings his arms out wide to express his frustration with me and I see the flicker of discomfort across his face as he does so. It fortifies my determination to keep him here and safe.

And so when he charges past me muttering curses about dwarves with no brains, his heart set on escaping and roaming the corridors, I am resolute. I will wrestle him to the ground if I have to, to keep him still.

I grasp on to his arm, his good arm.

"You will not leave Legolas."

"Gimli," he cries, "Surely you have lost your senses. Let me out of here. I just want some food."

And he surges forward but I do not let go and so he moves forward dragging me with him—briefly I wonder where his newly found strength comes from—but the added weight upsets his balance and he stumbles, we both stumble, head first into the door.

Or where the door would have been had someone not chosen that exact moment to open it.


	4. Chapter 4

As it turns out our landing is a soft one.

Mainly because Aragorn, obviously surprised at being greeted with a tumble of Elven and dwarven body parts, fails to dodge us and ends up at the bottom of the pile.

He seems less than impressed.

"I am sure I told you to keep him still Gimli," he says as he pulls himself upright with a wince. "I did not anticipate that would involve amusing yourselves with wrestling matches."

"This is not my fault Aragorn. The elf is unbalanced. I think with fever. He insists he is well and I was only trying to restrain him."

I am so relieved to see someone sensible I can pass the responsibility to for this confusing, flighty creature. Aragorn is the healer. He can keep the elf still—if he can.

Legolas, however, is irate.

"I am _not_ with fever! Gimli behaves irrationally, Aragorn. I only want some food...that is all. Is that too much to ask? He keeps me prisioner here."

He is agitated and twitchy, as he can be when he is upset.

"I think he has lost his mind, Aragorn. Battle stress," he continues.

"I do not have—" I am not about to let him accuse me of some kind of insanity!

"Peace!" Aragorn intervenes before I can verbalise my defence and places his hands upon the elf's shoulders. "Let me look at you. I need to assess how well you actually are."

"You can see I am well. I do not _need_ to be assessed." Legolas shrugs off Aragorn's hands and dances away as his agitation increases. I am sure there is something wrong with his mind. Could that shard of evil Aragorn removed from him have damaged his thought processes?

To my surprise Aragorn does not rise to the bait with annoyance, instead he is gentle.

"Legolas," he says as he walks towards our wild elf, "I am sure you are well, but let me see." He drops his voice low, I think to hide the next from me, but I can still hear. We dwarves have sharper hearing than many give us credit for and I am not in a rush to divulge that. It comes in handy at times like this.

"Gimli has little experience with your kind. To those unused to it, the speed of your healing can seem . . . Miraculous. Let me examine you to put his mind at rest— please."

I am not sure whether it is because he insinuates I am uneducated or because he asks so nicely but the elf capitulates.

"Very well," he mumbles. "But you will see . . ." He raises his voice then and looks straight at me. "You will _see_ I am well!"

"Then you will have proved your point!" Aragorn says with a smile. He seems rested and far more relaxed and I am glad.

He sits the elf back down upon the bed and examines him slowly, Legolas muttering the whole time of the pointlessness of the exercise as Aragorn pokes and prods him, turns his head this way and that as he looks at him with stern eyes. He does not raise to the elf's bait.

"Let me see your wound," he says eventually and I am shocked at that. He dressed it only hours ago. The bandages are still clean. Should it not be left alone to rest and heal, at for a few hours longer? It seems against all sense to remove those dressings and expose the healing wound now. I am not a healer of any kind but even I know that!

Still Legolas does not protest. Instead he shrugs of his shirt and wordlessly holds his arm out for inspection, scowling at me as he does so. He takes my concern for his health as a personal insult. Sometimes I think I will never understand him.

I think it even more when Aragorn drops the final bandage away and exposes the injury.

Instead of the red, inflamed, bloodied mess I expected to see is a scabbed clean, nearly healed track upon his skin. Barely a scratch. A wound I would not even turn a hair at. How can that be? I _know_ elves heal quickly, I know they are much more robust than mortals but _this_? It _is_ magic. It must be, for my brain cannot comprehend anything else. This is so far beyond my experience I am dumbstruck.

And at the sight of my startled face, Legolas throws me a look of triumph.

"See, Aragorn. I _am_ well!" He cries.

Aragorn examines it closely, not that there is much there to examine.

"I would normally remove these sutures," he says thoughtfully, about stitches he only put in place mere hours ago, as if doing such a thing is perfectly reasonable and normal. "But I will leave these in for awhile longer to give more strength to the wound. I think you will need it." And he picks up the bandages and begins to cover it firmly.

"It does not need to be covered." Legolas protests, and pulls his arm away but Aragorn holds him firm and when he speaks it is clear he is not to be disobeyed.

"It does and it _will_ be. There was internal damage we cannot see. I pulled a shard out of here that was tainted with evil. While I am encouraged by the speed of your recovery, I am not entirely sure the tissues it has been in contact with will have healed as they normally would. I will take no chances!"

"There is little pain. I tell you it does not need caution. It feels exactly as it should." Legolas protests and then Aragorn plays his trump card.

"If you do not let me support your wound then you will _not_ be accompanying us to Isengard."

Instantly Legolas is compliant, all thought of resisting for the sake of it disappears.

"Isengard? When do you intend to go there? And why? With whom?" He is alert and eager and I cannot help but smile at his enthusiasm.

"Gandalf wishes to confront Saruman and who knows what we will find there. He departs within the hour and I would have you with us."

"And I will go with you!" Legolas bounces to his feet and across to his pack, throwing things left and right as he attempts to arrange it. It seems to me he simply makes it worse. I am horrified though at the ease at which Aragorn is letting him go. I know he wants us both with him and I understand but—even despite the now obvious healing—I _know_ Legolas is not himself. I saw that unsteadiness when he first stood and Legolas is _never_ anything but completely sure-footed.

"Aragorn," I hiss as we stand and watch the chaos the elf is generating, "The healing is beyond anything I thought possible, perhaps it is too good to be true? I tell you he is not himself, not completely. It is insane to let him go to Isengard. Who knows what awaits us there."

"He is immortal, Gimli," Aragorn whispers back to me. "I know it seems incomprehensible to us, but this is how they heal. It is best to simply accept it. Do not dwell on the details, I have found, for it will only give you a headache."

"He is not _right!_ Not yet."

"Do not think I will not be watching him, Gimli, but if I leave him here he will only follow on his own." It is a good point Aragorn makes, for the elf is just crazy enough to do that. "Your job..." He leans over and whispers it right into my ear, "Is to keep him upright on the horse."

"I do _not_ need a dwarf to keep me on a horse!"

Legolas explodes with indignation because he has, of course, been listening.

"Do not listen to private conversations, Legolas I have told you that before!"

"Then do not have your private conversations in my earshot, Aragorn. I have told you that also!"

If you were not looking at them you could be fooled into thinking they are arguing but they both smile and it is all in jest. Yet when Aragorn walks over and places a hand on Legolas' shoulder his face is suddenly solemn.

"You will do as I say." He tells Legolas, "You will rest when I say it and you will not take watch. If you cannot promise me this Legolas, the Valar help me, I will tie you up here so you cannot follow us."

He is deadly serious.

"But—" Legolas begins to protest and Aragorn silences him with a single hand.

"I cannot lose you," he goes on then. "I cannot, and I know you have folk at home who cannot afford to lose you either. We have been lucky here, and it could easily have been worse."

All is silent and I hold my breath as I wait to see Legolas' response to that. And eventually he does respond, the briefest of nods. It is enough. From him this is a promise and he will keep it. He may kick against it and complain but he will not break his word.

Aragorn smiles then, a smile full of relief and delight and as he turns to go he says,

"I am glad you are speaking to me. I had thought I might find you furious when I came here."

He refers, of course, to our administration of the sedative.

"Forgive me." Legolas hangs his head, "I lost control. I do not hold that against you or Gimli."

It is a relief to hear him say that, I cannot deny it, despite our conversation earlier. I am pleased he is not going to dwell on my wrongdoing against him.

"Next time I will not-" he begins to say, but Aragorn stops him again holding a hand against his lips.

"I am hoping there will not be a next time, Legolas."

We all know however that, given the odds we face in this quest, the chances are there will be a next time for one of us. Aragorn is right. We were lucky this time. The knowledge hangs unspoken in the air between us.

Legolas' hair falls across his face in a swath of gold and Aragorn reaches out, pushs it to one side so he can see the eyes that hide behind it.

"Next time," he says slowly, "If there is to be one, and I am lost in a sea of mortals you cannot bring yourself to enter, promise me you will call for me. Early, before more damage is done. Send someone to find me. Promise me that and I promise I will come."

The smile that lights Legolas' face is one of his brightest.

"I will call." He says, "I have no wish to submit myself to Gimli's care again. The trip down the stairs was most discomforting!" And he dances out of the way of my attempt to cuff his ears.

He really is incorrigible.

"Feed yourselves," Aragorn says with a laugh. "There is food in the kitchen especially for you. Go eat some of it, then prepare and I will see you shortly."

And so he leaves us to ourselves.

Our trip to the kitchen is a silent one, after Legolas has finished gloating over his supposed wellness. He loves to be proved right and it is quite tiresome normally. Today though, I am simply pleased to have him here and lively, in one piece, and so I let him tease me. Just this once. I am feeling generous.

We pile our plates with food, the both of us, and it is most welcome. Now that I think of it, it has been far too long since we ate. I watch Legolas as he devours the food and I see all the signs he is not yet himself. The shadow under his eyes, the paleness of his face, the wince of discomfort when he moves his arm too rapidly. I think Aragorn is right. The arm is not as well healed yet as it should be . . . For an elf that is.

"Gimli," Legolas plucks me from my thoughts as he begins to speak and it takes me by surprise. "When you wish to speak of the stones," he says. "When they call to you and you need to share it. You can tell your stone stories to me and I will listen. I would like to know more of stone I think."

It is a lie. He has not the slightest interest in the rocks and stones of earth when he could be in the trees. But it is also a gift. He has listened, he has heard me and he seeks to help me feel less alone.

And I love him for it.

TBC


	5. Chapter 5

**Authors Note: So this has grown into something I didn't anticipate and will be longer than I thought. :)**

 **Legolas: The Road to Isengard**

I am tired.

I am not used to it, this heaviness dragging me down. It invades my bones and sinks to the heart of me. I wish I could get rid of it but, just as I am not used to it, also I do not know how to cure it.

On top of the nagging fatigue, my arm aches. A dull throb that beats in time with the swaying of Arod. Throb, throb, throb, it pounds a beat in my mind that is difficult to turn my thoughts from. But turn them from it I must for I will not show weakness here, surrounded by mortals.

I attempt to distract myself by remembering the Ents.

Ents!

I have seen the Ents. I can hardly believe it myself for they are the stuff of legends and myths long told in the forest. When I departed on this journey I never imagined something as wonderful as this.

How I longed to join them. I still do. A deep-felt desire pulls me in their direction. To actually speak with them—it would be something unheard of amongst my people. It was only Mithrander's stern rebuke ringing clear in my mind that hauled me back to myself, back to my companions.

That was a few hours ago, when I ambled our horse towards them and Gimli has not let it go. Still he grumbles behind me and I let his voice wash over me now.

"You could have got us both killed! What I have done to deserve being saddled with an elf as insane as you I do not know."

I decide this can be my distraction from my ailments. Gimli is so easy to tease.

"Just think Gimli, how exciting it would be to meet them! Perhaps later we can slip away and find them?"

"You will _not!_ I have no wish to be anywhere near those...trees...giant, walking, talking trees...and those eyes. You will stay away Legolas!"

"But would you not find it exciting to meet a giant, walking, talking, rock, Gimli? It is the same for me with the Ents."

"I have no interest in rocks which walk, Legolas. None at all." He huffs indignantly behind me and I cannot help but smile. "And that is beside the point as they do not exist. You speak such rubbish. Is it true of all elves or is it only you?"

I open my mouth to accuse him of insulting all my people when Aragorn draws up beside us. It is dark, pitch black, but I know it is him. His fea burns bright and clear and places him above all the others.

"Gandalf wishes us to stop and rest." he says staring intently at me as he does so. It is welcome news. No longer will I have to struggle to stay on top of this horse and hide my woes from Gimli. "Gimli will see to Arod," he continues. "And the men will set the camp. You will rest, and that is all you will do."

I can see in his eyes he expects me to protest, to fight against his orders and normally he would be right. It is an instinct I have, to rebel. My father always says, usually with a sigh, that I need a gentle touch. "If you tell Legolas to do something" he says, "then he will do the opposite, so stubborn he is."

Aragorn has not yet discovered this . . . Or perhaps he has, and sometimes he simply forgets it.

So when I nod and agree without resistance, because I have no energy to do otherwise, and truth be told, I _want_ to rest, his eyes flicker with alarm.

"Are you well?" he asks, skewering me with a gaze that seeks to see into my depths.

"I am well," I answer him simply and it is the truth for this is nothing, nothing at all, compared to that terrible illness of the night before. A creeping weakness that completley overwhelmed me until I was afraid. Afraid Gimli would not find me, afraid I would not survive it. Compared to that I am well indeed. "I am well, but a rest would be appreciated."

"Do not tell me you have suddenly discovered commonsense, Legolas?" Gimli cannot resist the opportunity for a jibe and I laugh. But Aragorn does not.

"I will see you when we are settled," he says as he moves away towards Mithrander and I try to resist the voice in my head which reminds me I do not need his help. I am not a child to be cosseted and fussed over, in fact I have lived several of his lifetimes already.

I listen instead to the words of my father. He tells me accepting help is not a weakness. It will not make others think less of you. I need to remember that. I need to remember the total disaster, running from those who would help me at the Hornburg, became.

It is a relief when we stop, a relief to hand the horse to Gimli and a blessed relief to sit down on solid ground. I choose a tree to lean against and soak up the calm peace it emanates. It is pleased to see me, I can tell. But the clamour of the Men as they set up camp jars in my ears. My arm throbs viciously now and their voices are harsh and discordant against my fea. I cannot stand it in the end and drop my head to my knees, burying it in my arms to shut them out . . . To shut it all out.

It does not work.

I sense a disturbance beside me then, as someone drops to the ground. It is Aragorn, of course. His strong, calm presence eases the chaos of my mind. If he were Erynion, my friend from home who I have grown and fought with, I could reach back. I could soothe him as he soothes me but Aragorn cannot feel my fea and sometimes that causes me regret.

I wonder what Erynion does now? Does he still live? Does he fight in the south without me? I do not know why my thoughts turn to him after so long keeping them firmly on the road ahead of me but my mind is suddenly filled with images of home.

"What is wrong?" Aragorn finally speaks softly beside me tearing my thoughts away and I am overcome with a rush of bitterness, of lonely sorrow. My words, as a result are harsh and cutting.

"I am sick of travelling with mortals!"

But Aragorn does not bite. Instead he throws an arm across my shoulders and laughs.

"Ah, we can be irritating, I know. Especially when you are in pain."

I lift my head and stare at him for how did he know?

"It is obvious, Legolas," he smiles. "You are not as much of a mystery to me as you imagine." He reaches into his pocket then and pulls out a small bag, tipping some dried leaves into my hand. "Take these," he says closing my fingers around them. "Chew them slowly."

I gaze at them with apprehension. An image flits through my mind of him holding me down, forcing that sedative on me. Does he attempt to trick me? It seems not though, as he goes on to read my mind.

"They are for pain only, Legolas. I need you as alert as I can get you."

Reluctantly I place them in my mouth and chew as he instructed. They are bitter and unpleasant and I screw my face up in disgust. Still if they rid me of this pain it will be a welcome respite.

I close my eyes then, relaxing against the tree and slowly, slowly, it is as if a blanket of wellbeing slips over me. The throb becomes an ache and then the ache fades to barely a twinge and in the absence of pain I am left feeling almost euphoric. When I open my eyes it is as if the world has been washed clean. Colours are sharper, brighter, my senses more acute.

"Better?" Aragorn asks from beside me and when I turn to him I am startled to see his fea burns as bright as if he were almost Elven. I am filled with a need to tell all, to spill out my loneliness. I do not know why.

"I am homesick," I say, almost against my will. "I want to go home." I do not mean I intend to abandon him, that I do not want to journey along this path I have placed myself upon, by his side. But in this one moment in time, home is all I want.

"In truth," Aragorn replies, "I wish for home as well, if I knew where it was."

It is such a strange thing to say. How can he not know? But then, when I think on it . . . Where _is_ his home?

"You miss Imladris then?"

He sighs,

"Those I love are there certainly, and I miss them."

"But it is not home? You grew up there." Surely the place you spent your childhood is home, I think to myself.

He laughs, but it is not joyous. It is sad.

"Do I look like an elf?" And I realise what he says is true. It may be a place he loves but it is not _his_ place. Not like the forest is _mine._

 _"_ The Rangers then. In the north. They are your people."

He leans back against the tree, arms behind his head, legs stretched out in front of him and the firelight dances across his weary face.

"That _is_ where I am most comfortable, I admit. If I had a choice I would spend my life there, but I have no choice . . . and still it is not home in any case."

I struggle to understand what he is telling me. To have no place you can call home? It is an anathema to me, for the forest—my home—is my soul. It is a part of me, the whole of me. It defines me. It is my comfort and my security. I am filled with sorrow for him, for what must it be like to live without that?

As I watch him, struggling for something to say, some way to offer comfort I am distracted again by the way his fea flares within his eyes. It is so strange tonight, so very un-mortal.

"Go to sleep Thranduilion!" The order ricochets around my mind and I jump, startled. "Go to sleep and let Aragorn sleep also for he needs his strength."

I turn with alarm and see Mithrander scowling at me from the other side of the campsite.. His arms are crossed and he looks most displeased with us both.

"What is it?" Aragorn leans forward, his hand upon my shoulder. He is all of a sudden tense and alert, but I relax, back against the tree.

"Mithrander wishes us to sleep. He chastises me as if we are naughty children." I slam my internal walls up so the wizard cannot take me unawares like that again and across the fire he rolls his eyes at me. I smile sweetly back. I have grown lax these days since we left Lothlorien. Travelling among mortals, no one can sense my fea and I have dropped my protection. I will not make that mistake again.

"It is good to have him back," Aragorn says and I know he means it. He is relieved to share the burden of Leadership if even for a short time.

"Speak for yourself," I answer, "It is not your mind he invades!" But I do not mean it. I too am glad Mithrander is with us again.

In the end we do not sleep long, in fact it sees to me it is hardly at all. Though, once I let myself, without the pain, it is easy to find the rest I need. We are awoken though, far too soon, when no time at all has past, by the Ents.

They march past us, a river of shadow, parting to leave us untouched in the middle as they surround us. An Ent army! It is truly glorious.

A wonder to behold.

The Men however are terrified, they cry out in alarm and distress and it hurts my ears. Even Gimli, beside me, is frightened. I hear his curses float across the dark. But I . . . I am entranced, spellbound, a-fire, and it is only Aragorn's firm arm across my shoulder and the strong warning from the wizard ringing in my mind that keeps me still.

For I would follow them if I could.


	6. Chapter 6

I cannot sleep after the Ents leave us. They are too . . . Exhilarating!

If only I could have gone to them, spoken to them, been with them. I burn with excitement and sleep is impossible. Gimli does not sleep either but for different reasons. He stands as if we might be descended on at any minute by a horde of angry trees. The Ents have shaken him badly.

"Sit still Legolas!" He frowns at me and I know I am irritating him but I cannot help it. I need to move. "Stop dancing around and settle."

"It is so exciting, Gimli. Do you not feel it?" I know he does not but I cannot resist prodding him for a reaction. "To think I have seen them. My friends will not believe it!" Erynion floats in to my mind again. Why do I think so often of him at the noment? My brother in arms. Oh he will be amazed when I tell him this. . . If I ever get the chance to tell him, I remind myself, and a wave of depression slightly dampens my elation with the thought of never returning to my home, never seeing my friends.

Gimli huffs his frustration at me and turns his back.

"Move away, you foolish elf, if you cannot be sensible and control yourself." He grumbles, but I know it is only his fear speaking, The unknown of the Ents has unsettled him. He is just a dwarf and more used to stones than trees after all.

And so I leave him to it. I have learned, over the years I have lived, that sometimes my light-heartedness will only earn me grief if others are not in the mood to tolerate it. I am happy, but Gimli is apprehensive, and the two will not fit well together at the moment.

I am best seeking my own company.

Eventually the camp starts to move as the men gather equipment and ready their horses. They are _so_ noisy, so grating with their chatter and their inability to do anything stealthily. They thrum with fear and anxiety and it weighs me down to sense it, even though it is not mine to bear. I am annoyed at them, spoiling my good mood.

Aragorn approaches me silently then. The only man here capable of it. He knows how to move with stealth and quiet. I wonder as I watch him, of his cousins, the Dunadain who he spoke of last night. Are they all like him or does he stand above them also as he does with these Rohirrin?

"You did not rest as much as I wished," he says placing a hand upon my uninjured shoulder.

"How did you expect me to!" I exclaim. "Truly, that was the most wondrous experience last night Aragorn. Did they not fill you with awe?" Surely he, out of all of them will appreciate the beauty of the Ents.

"Awe is a good way of putting it," he says grudgingly, "but I do not think, Legolas, it was quite the experience for me, that it was for you."

"Then you have missed something glorious," I say in a fit of bad temper. "You all have." It is becoming irritating to be the only one who is not understood here, the only one different. The only one who is looked at with suspicion and distrust. Half these men think I am about to ensorcel them. If only I could.

"Perhaps you are right." Aragorn places his arm around my shoulders and it holds me still so I do not fly off into a storm of dissatisfaction at the world. He is good at this, helping me feel the earth beneath my feet. "But I am glad we only have you here, and not a crowd of Woodelves, for I fear we would have lost you all as you went Ent chasing."

I laugh then for he is surely right. I can see them all, Erynion, Maewen, all my friends, would have been off to that stream of Ents and no one would have held them back.

"You are lucky I am the sensible one, Aragorn." I reply and he laughs in return for he knows that can not be even close to fact. Sensible is not a word my people use to describe me, far from it.

He reaches into his pocket then and presses a small bag into my hands while I look at him in confusion.

"Some of the herbs I gave you last night for the pain. Take them if you need to for the ride will be long."

But I push them back at him in rejection.

"I do not need them. My arm feels better. I am fine." It is not a lie, I do feel better and my arm, although not yet perfect is much improved from when I woke the day before.

"Legolas!" He places them back into my hand. He is so stubborn. "I need you fit. Who knows what we meet in Isengard. Who knows what kind of force may await us there...or in fact nothing but Saruman himself. I need to know you will be able to fight safely. I need your bow especially."

It is a good point he makes and I can understand it. It is a mystery what we ride to and the last thing he needs is me hobbled by pain. My fathers words of being wary of my pride becoming my downfall ring in my mind. The shame I feel when I think of my childish behaviour in Helms Deep, rejecting Aragorn's help in a panic, is still fresh

And so, this time, I acquiesce.

"Very well, I will accept them but I assure you I will _not_ need them!"

I am determined about that and at first I think I am right. But the ride is long and Mithrander is in a hurry. He gives us no time to rest. At first my arm gives me barely a niggle, but then, slowly, the niggle becomes an ache and the ache becomes a throb and I am back where I was before we stopped, wishing for a respite and struggling to keep my mind on anything but the pain.

Gimli's arms are wrapped tight around me and, dare I say it, he becomes a burden. His weight throws off my balance and it is harder to keep upright while my arm hurts so badly.

"Legolas," he complains, "Will you keep still. You do not make this easy for me." as I twist and turn within his grip trying to find a place of relative comfort. In the end the lure of the herbs in my pocket proves all to much and reluctantly I reach for them. What else can I do?

The pouch Aragorn has given me is full and there are far more herbs there than I took last night, so I hesitate. How much to take? The same as before or more? Did he give me this much because that is what he wishes me to have? I glance up ahead to where he rides in front of us. I could ask him but deep within me burns a need to be stoical, to not show weakness, especially in front of these mortals who look at me with such disdain.

I make my own decision. Last night I was resting, about to sleep, of course I needed less to dampen my pain then, and Aragorn is right. He needs me and he needs me to be fit and well. He can not afford to be distracted trying to protect me. And so I take them all. He gave me this much for a reason surely.

They worked quickly before and they do so again. Gradually the nagging, burning pain fades away to nothing and I am filled with the euphoria of relief. Without the pain to hold me down it feels as if I could fly, as if my soul soars amongst the clouds. And those clouds! I have not noticed before how beautiful they can be. As I look up towards them they mesmerise me. Patterns, shapes, and ever-changing pictures drift before my eyes.

Gimli is mumbling his complaints at me again but this time I do not listen. I am invigorated and alive and I do not want to allow his miserable dwarvishness drag me down.

It is then, as I gaze at the light of the sun as it sparkles across the grass, that I see him.

He is there, in the distance, and he smiles at me.

I do not stop to think how ridiculous it is, to wonder why he would be so far from home or how he knew I was there in the first place. All I know is that it is him, he is there, and he is there for me. He brings a message from my father perhaps? The thought of it fills me with joy and I am off, off the horse and across the grass.

"Erynion!" I cry as I run and behind me I hear the roar of Gimli shouting my name, calling me mad and crying for Aragorn but it does not stop me.

I have been so homesick, so full of yearning for someone who will understand me, it feels as if all my wishes have been granted.

But when I arrive at the cluster of rocks where I was sure I saw him he is not there. He vanishes as I near him and I am perplexed as I look around in confusion. Perhaps he has climbed the cliff, but why would he do that? I cannot see him there and he had no time to hide.

"Legolas," Aragorn is next to me and I swing to face him. "What do you see?" He is all tense anxiety. I can feel it.

"Erynion was here" I explain, "and he has gone. Help me find him Aragorn."

His face, which was stern before is overcome with confusion then, even as I watch I see it sweep over his features.

"Who is Erynion?" He asks gently, placing a hand on my arm to support me. "There is no one here Legolas."

"But he _was_ here. I swear it. He brings a message from my father." Of course he did not see him, he is a mortal after all. His eyesight, although good, is not as good as mine.

"What goes on here?" It is Mithrander who has joined us and Gimli follows behind, huffing and puffing and swearing at me under his breath.

Mithrander will know what to do. If anyone else spied Erynion it will be he! And he knows him.

"Erynion is here," I say patiently. "He is here but I cannot find him."

And Mithrander peers at me closely, his eyes sweeping across my face, noticing everything.

"He is not here child." He says softly, gently, as if I am exactly that. A child he has care for. "Why would he be here so far from home, Legolas? And how would he have found you? Think on this."

That takes me aback for when I think on it, it makes no sense, no sense at all.

"But I _saw_ him."

I see Gimli then, standing behind the wizard, staring at me as if I have three heads and he is a-fire. His fea dances in the sunlight, a brilliant glorious orange it is, so bright it almost blinds me and it is so distracting I forget all about Mithrander . . . And Aragorn standing beside me.

"Gimli!" I cry, "You are burning. Your soul is on fire!"

And at that Mithrander reaches out and lifts my chin, tilting my face away from Gimli towards himself, looking in to my eyes with concern.

He turns to Aragorn leaving me free to watch the flames that dance around Gimli, in amazement.

"What have you given him?" He demands, and it is easy to tell he is not happy.

He is not happy at all.


	7. Chapter 7

**Gimli** : **Road to Isengard**

I swear the elf will send me to an early grave. If it is not Ents, those giant walking trees, then it is shadows he chases after.

In the middle of a perfectly pleasant ride, he bolts, leaving me stranded on that drafted horse of his, crying out in his sing-song elvish as he goes.

"Legolas!" I shout to him, "Legolas, have you gone mad? Stop this!" But he does not listen and so I call to Aragorn, as I struggle to get myself down on the ground.

"Aragorn, the elf has gone mad!" It is such a relief to see him turn, his face as shocked as mine when he notices the elf careening wildly across the grass.

Then he is off his horse and after him.

By the time I reach them Legolas has stopped his running and is standing dazed and confused instead, with Aragorn next to him. The wizard is there as well and he speaks to Legolas as if he is a small, lost child.

"Erynion is not here." He says—whoever that may be. "Think on this Legolas."

Legolas simply blinks as if surprised.

"But I _saw_ him." He says. I know my eyesight is not as good as his but I saw nothing, absolutely no one, and I am sure there never was anyone here.

There is something odd about Legolas, apart from this bizarre behaviour. He looks wrong—something about his eyes. I wonder if this is to do with that evil shard he had in his arm. The thought of it, and it's darkness, turns my stomach. Has it left some lingering damage?

He sees me and a look of astonishment passes across his face. It is as if he had no idea I would come after him. But it is not that at all that bothers him as I find out soon enough.

"Gimli! You are burning. Your soul is on fire." He cries and he is so sure, so definite about it I find myself looking down expecting to see flames. Of course there are none.

He is seeing things.

Gandalf grabs hold of him then, and stares grimly into his eyes. I hope he can see the strangeness there that I do for it unnerves me.

"What did you give him?" He snaps at Aragorn and I am surprised for I did not know Aragorn had given him anything at all. But I am distracted from hearing his answer by Legolas, who, freed from the wizard, is patting at my clothes, my hair, in a frenzy.

"Does it hurt you Gimli? I cannot put it out!" He is panicked and I try to bat away his hands ineffectually.

"Nothing is burning me, Legolas, Nothing, leave me be boy!"

And he stands back bewildered.

"Then truly it must be the heart of you Gimli," he exclaims. "I did not know you were so beautiful!"

I am not comfortable with being called beautiful, especially by the elf and I wish he would stop this.

Aragorn grabs his hand then and he is insistent.

"How much of those herbs did you take Legolas?" he asks earnestly and I feel a quiver of nervousness twist within me. What has Legolas done?

"What you gave me, I did as you asked." Legolas smiles brightly, as though he is a child waiting to be rewarded.

"How _much_ of what I gave you?"

"All of it!" Legolas reaches into his pocket and pulls out an empty pouch placing it in Aragorn's hand, while he stares at it aghast.

"There were at least three doses there!" He exclaims and Gandalf behind him frowns. He is most displeased, that much is obvious.

"Oh" Legolas looks down at the empty pouch as if he has never seen it before, as if it was not he who just produced it. But when he looks up there is still a smile on his face, he is unperturbed. "Never mind Aragorn." He pats his arm kindly. "I am an elf, I am sure it will not harm me."

"Three _Elven_ doses." Aragorn gasps, and Gandalf sighs.

"What were you thinking Aragorn?" He asks. "Legolas is not your brothers with their knowledge of healing. A smattering of field medicine is all he has."

It is entirely the wrong thing to say within Legolas' hearing.

"I am as good as the Elrondionath!" He cries in hurt indignation. "There is nothing they can do that I can not."

"I did not say you were not as good as them boy." Gandalf lays a calming hand upon his shoulder, "But their knowledge of healing herbs is the greater, just as yours is of the trees and the land."

"I would like to see them even climb a tree!" Legolas will not let it go although he seems to accept the Wizard's reasoning thankfully. I have to chuckle though because I am suddenly struck by an image of one of those brooding Elven Warriors climbing a tree. I am with Legolas on this one. I cannot imagine them doing it.

Aragorn runs a hand through his hair in what I think is frustration, or possibly despair. He looks wretched. I feel a pang of pity for him, but only a small one because it is rapidly becoming apparent he has inadvertently poisoned my elf. The movement of his hand through the air distracts Legolas. He is distractable at the best of times, truly a flighty silvan and now he is even worse, if such a thing is possible.

"Aragorn," he reaches out with his hand in awe to brush his fingers gently against Aragorn's hair.

"I see your crown. I have seen it before you know, with Glorfindel in Imladris." I have no idea what nonsense this is that he spouts now.

Aragorn grasps his hand and gently, gently, lowers it.

"Ah, Legolas, you see things that are not there," he says sadly.

"Do I?" Legolas tilts his head in that way he has which makes him look so young and quizzical. "Or is it just that you do not wish to see them?"

"Aragorn, a word." Gandalf pulls Aragorn away from us mid conversation and they move back towards the men, deep in discussion, their voices low, but not low enough, for the odd word floats back to us. They speak of Legolas of course. Of how they will get him back on horse and to Isengard. The wizard speaks of an antidote which will cause him to sleep this off. At least he will be docile then for I cannot see him agreeing to ride with anyone else and I am sure I will _not_ be getting back on a horse with him again.

Aragorn will not countenance it though. He argues strongly for some time to use coercion but the wizard is right. Aragorn has skills manipulating people I admit that, but even he will not be clever enough to convince this foolish version of Legolas to ride in to Isengard like an invalid.

"Who do they speak of, Elvellen?" The elf asks me as he watches them, his face a picture of confusion. It is a word I have not heard before and I hope he does not insult me but I think I will wait until he is more sensible before I try to find out its meaning.

"They speak of you, Legolas. For we need to continue to Isengard and they also need to keep you safe." I have no hope of him understanding this considering the addled state he is in.

"I _am_ safe!" He says in surprise. "I will ride there as we were before." He says it as if nothing could be more simple. He is an adept horseman so of course he will ride.

"And when you dash off chasing invisible faeries? Those herbs you have taken have affected your mind, Legolas."

He frowns at me then and I can see he struggles to follow my reasoning, but his attention is diverted again as Aragorn raises his voice.

"I will _not_ do it, Mithrander." He says angrily. "I have had to force sleep upon him once already and far too recently. It would be a betrayal and I will not do it again."

"We have no time." The Wizards counters aggressively. He will not be dismissed and who would even have the courage to dismiss him?

"We have time for _this!"_ Aragorn has had enough and stalks back towards us scowling as he does so.

"Aragorn glows purple," Legolas exclaims excitedly beside me as if the entire argument has floated above his head. "Do you see, Gimli? I do not know how it is I have not noticed this before!" And my heart sinks. He is in a world of his own. A world filled, it seems, with wild colours and enchanting visions but a world completely divorced from ours.

Aragorn's despondent face matches my mood exactly as he approaches us. A battle lays ahead; one of words. A battle with the elf's pride and irrationality, and we are unlikely to be the winners. But he must try at least. The idea of holding Legolas down and forcing sleep on him once again is not a pleasant one and I understand why Aragorn resists so strongly.

Legolas is changeable at the best of times, changeable and unpredictable. Just when you think you understand him he surprises. Just when you believe you know what he will do he does the opposite—and that is when he is his usual self. Not this strange and distractable creature. Aragorn is better than I at understanding his moods and guessing which way he will jump, although I improve I think, slowly.

However today he surprises the both of us, all three of us to be exact because no one is more surprised than the wizard. For when Aragorn lays a hand sadly upon Legolas' arm and begins his speech the unthinkable happens.

"Legolas," he says and his voice is weary and broken, "We need to move on, to Isengard. I know this is not how you would wish it but I need to ask—" He has barely begun his attempt at coercion when Legolas interrupts with a bright and brilliant smile.

"If you wish me to ride with you, Aragorn, I will do so. If it makes you happy," he says cheerfully and he leaves me flabbergasted. Aragorn as well it seems, for his jaw drops open in astonishment and it take him some seconds to compose himself enough for a reply.

"Yes . . ." His reply when it does come is a stumbling one. "Yes, that would make me happy."

"So be it then," Legolas is chirpy in the extreme and throws his arm across Aragorn's shoulder. "I will see if I can improve your appalling horsemanship as we go."

I am left standing there dumbfounded for why did he do that? I could have sworn he would protest violently, that he would be deeply offended and unable to see sense. Where is his elvish pride? Where is his lack of commonsense?

But it does not take me long to work it out when I see the look he throws Gandalf over his shoulder as he walks away. It is a look of triumph, a challenge, a look that says, 'I have proved you wrong." He has heard every word they said in their discussion and understood it. And this is his retaliation.

It almost makes me laugh.

Legolas is hard to read. He is often a blank slate, emotions buried deep inside, invisible to those of us who watch him, but not now. Now it is as if his walls have dropped away, allowing us to see the chaotic, realness of the Legolas hidden inside. Everything is on view.

"I hate the way they look at me," I hear him tell Aragorn as they walk back towards the horses. "They do not trust me. They think I will harm them. I have done nothing to deserve their suspicion, Aragorn and it is hurtful." He speaks of the men of course and I know this has been bothering him of late. The men edge their way warily around him, they stare at him from afar. I did not think he would ever speak of it so openly though. He is a revelation today!

"I know, Legolas," Aragorn replies softly. "I know, but it is only by allowing them to know you, you will overcome it. And you _will_ overcome it one day. I promise." But I wonder if Aragorn can ever promise that.

Still it seems to work for the smile returns to the fair elven face and he retreats to his fantasy world, his eyes focused on the clouds, as Aragorn steers him gently back the way we came.

And watching him drift through whatever miraculous visions float across his mind I wonder, just how long will this odd state he is in last?

I do not envy Aragorn the ride which is ahead of him.

It may well be a very long and very trying one.

AUTHORS NOTE: Legolas' mention of seeing Aragorn's crown in Imladris is a nod back to the story "Lost in Translation" in case you were wondering...


	8. Chapter 8

You could use many words to describe the entrance to Isengard when we reach it. Imposing, impressive, towering, to choose a few but the expression on Aragorn's face conveys none of those things. Instead he is a picture of desperation.

The elf has talked, and talked, and talked and then talked some more. Normally he is a quiet thing. Quiet and watchful, he can stand in the midst of you and yet be unnoticed. But now? Now it is as if a cork has been removed and all his thoughts come pouring out of his brain as soon as he has them.

The wizard and I ride right next to Aragorn, I think because Gandalf is watchful for Legolas making another break for freedom, and therefore I can hear every word that leaves the elf's mouth.

He begins by cheerfully describing the glittering sun, and grass, which to his eyes is miraculous, exclaiming over every twig and pebble we pass but he does not stop there. He moves on to informing Aragorn of the colours each of our companions appear to him. Theodan is brown apparently and Legolas finds that quite boring, but Eomer is a brilliant blue and that fascinates him. Throughout this Aragorn breathes deeply and I can tell he is counting to ten before he mutters the occasional word when Legolas stops for breath.

It gets worse when Legolas begins to speak of his feelings.

He tells Aragorn how much he admires him, his strength, his leadership. How he will follow him to the end of this, no matter what. For the love of the Lord of the White Tree, he says. He continues until Aragorn is blushing, while desperately trying to change the subject, and the Wizard's shoulders shake with suppressed mirth. I would laugh too but I am terrified Legolas may transfer his outspoken affection to me next. I know he is fond of me but I do not want him announcing that to all and sundry.

I am safe though, thank goodness, as before that can happen the conversation deteriorates into a long discussion between he and Aragorn in lilting Sindarin. A discussion that has Gandalf muttering under his breath.

"Foolish child. Hold your tongue before it gets you in trouble."

And I am curious as to what they say. In the end I have to ask.

"What do they speak of now?" I whisper although I do not expect the wizard will tell me, but he does.

"Legolas begins a character assassination of every elf in Imladris," He whispers back. "But he forgets they are Aragorn's family."

Oh I wish I could hear that! What does he have to say about that collection of elegant, self important Elves? I can imagine and it makes me grin. But then a thought hits me,

"He doesn't say anything about dwarves?" I hope he sticks to Aragorn's loved ones and not my own.

"No dwarves," Gandalf shakes his head, "only Elrond. . . And Glorfindel. . . And the twins. Shall I mention dwarves to him Gimli?"

"No!" On Durin's beard, I do not want that!

Eventually, thankfully, Legolas lulls into silence. Even the random cries of excitement at the scenery seize and when Gandalf pulls our horse up closer I can see he is asleep, head lolling back upon Aragorn's shoulder. Here is hoping when he wakes some of this strangeness will have dissipated.

"Consider that your punishment," Gandalf leans in and tells Aragorn with a sly smile.

"Elbereth, let's hope he is himself when he wakes," Aragorn sighs. "I cannot take much more of this. What I am supposed to do with this information?"

"Forget it," Gandalf laughs, "for he will be mortified if he remembers what he has been saying when he wakes."

Aragorn smiles then and it transforms his tired face.

"I have never heard Elrond described as 'the progeny of a Kinslayer with a stick up his backside' before, but perhaps, at times, it may be fitting."

Did Legolas _really_ say that?

"Ah. . ." Gandalf's eyes sparkle. "I think that was Thranduil speaking."

From the descriptions I have heard of Thranduil from my father I _can_ imagine that.

And so it is, when we finally draw our horses to a stop outside Isengard, Aragorn is more fatigued than impressed, and the desperation appears because Legolas, jolted by the sudden absense of movement, awakes.

"Ah, we are here!" He exclaims as if that is a truly ground-breaking discovery. "Well, this place looks intimidating. What do you wait for Aragorn? If I am forced to ride in with you like an imbecile the least you can give me is a grand entrance."

And Aragorn sighs.

"Legolas is right." Gandalf spurs our horse forward then with determination, I think, perhaps, so we do not have to listen to any more of Legolas' inanity. And the rest of us follow.

"Of course I am right!" We hear behind us. "Hear that Aragorn, you should take a woodelf's advice more often."

"Still under the influence then." Gandalf mutters as we go forward. "I think Aragorn's punishment lasts a bit too long."

We are all rendered speechless the instant we arrive inside Isengard, Legolas included because it is a veritable lake. Awash with water, the Tower of Orthanic stands black and ominous in the middle. What has happened here? This is not at all what any of us expected and we stand silent in amazement.

Silent, that is until Legolas, with a cry of joy eludes a distracted Aragorn's clutches and slips from the horse. This is the worst time possible for him to run.

And then it is the best, for we see what it is that has caught his eye. What he has seen before any of the rest of us—or rather, who. There near the entrance, reclining as if they are lords of this place are the hobbits. We have chased them long and hard and now we have found them.

I cannot get off my horse fast enough. And then Aragorn is with them and Legolas dances around them as if he has lost his mind. Of course he has, but I think this is simply pure joy. He is not the only one, we are all joyful, and questions fall off our lips in a babble of confusion. It is Gandalf who cuts across the noise.

"Where is Treebeard, young hobbits?" He asks, interrupting our reunion, "for I wish to see him."

"He is over there," Pippin indicates the other side of the glade, "and he is expecting you Gandalf, and Theodan King, he said, but stay with us Aragorn if you will, for awhile longer . . . We have food!"

"Treebeard. . . " Legolas sighs dreamily and leans, almost inadvertently towards the direction where Gandalf turns and a tall grey shape is standing in the distance. "I would speak with him."

But Aragorn's hand is tight around his wrist, holding him firm and anchoring him with us.

"I accept your fine offer Pippin," Aragorn nods his head, "I do not think we need to see Treebeard quite yet." And I know he seeks to prevent any contact with Ents until Legolas is well and truly back to being himself again. He is unpredictable enough around them at the best of times.

And so the hobbits lead us on and they do have food, and wine, and it is a fine spread indeed. I notice Aragorn keeps Legolas very close, while being gentle and surreptitious. He guides him away from stone walls that distract him, quietly removes food from his hands when he has spent minutes gazing at it, and prompts him to eat. I do think he is so careful, so subtle about the way he does this that the hobbits do not even realise there is anything wrong. Apart from Legolas' loud excitement over the greenness of Merry's glow that is, which does cause them some confusion.

And as we eat, if I am not mistaken, Legolas gradually returns to us. The words he does speak, make more sense. The time he spends daydreaming lessens and Aragorn can gradually ease off his attentive care without fear of an outburst of nonsense.

Better than the food is when we discover these ingenious hobbits have somehow managed to secure some longbottom leaf. That is good news indeed for Aragorn and I have both, long ago, run out. So we retreat outside to sample some of theirs and Legolas does not even protest. Instead he lies himself back upon the grass, arms behind his head watching the clouds and he sings. This is not in itself unusual, in fact it is familiar. . . Us smoking, him singing, all that is missing is his endless complaints about our filthy habit.

Aragorn is melancholy though, despite our hobbit friends and despite the excellent leaf. He sits a bit apart from us and broods as our conversation washes over him. I am thinking of intervening, of drawing him back when Legolas himself sits up and so I content myself watching the elf instead as he analyses our friend.

This is more like Legolas, quietly watching, seeing all.

In the end he decides to make a move and shuffles himself across to sit next to Aragorn, so close that their heads rest together. One gold, one dark.

"Let it go," he says softly, "I am well, Aragorn, let it go."

So this is what troubles our leader, guilt and remorse.

"My carelessness has caused you harm." he replies.

" _My_ carelessness Aragorn. I am not as uneducated as Mithrander paints me. I knew I should ask for clarification and my pride stopped me. And the harm that was caused was not a great one."

Oh yes, Legolas is back!

"It could have been Legolas. It could have been much worse, what if we had encountered the enemy? This is a grave mistake I have made."

And I watch as Legolas puts his arm around our weary friend.

"We all make mistakes, Aragorn. Let me share the blame for this one." But I do not know if Aragorn truly hears him.

He realises that as well I think and tries again.

"Be happy." he says, "We have found our friends. The Three Hunters have been reunited with those they chased. It is a time for joy and we should make the most of it."

I am drawn from my inspection of the two of them by a hobbit hand on my shoulder.

"Gimli," It is Pippin. "Legolas has not seemed himself today. Is all well with him?" So they _have_ noticed.

"Ah. . . " I stall for time because for both Legolas and Aragorn's sakes I do not want to speak the truth. "We fought a battle at the Hornburg and he was injured, but he improves. I would not worry for the elf, Master Hobbit."

"Oh!" Pippin's eyes are wide and his hands fly to his mouth as he cries out to Legolas, "Legolas, You have been injured!"

And Legolas tilts his head back to look at him, hair sliding across his face, a smile lighting his eyes. I wonder then, looking at him basking in the sun, what colour he would see himself as since he has allocated all the rest of us one in the last few hours.

I think he is gold.

"I was injured, yes," he laughs, throwing his arms wide, "But Aragorn has healed me! Such a master is he." Now he is joking and it is such a difference from the earnest, heartfelt, admiration he poured upon Aragorn before, but no less true and he knows it.

And Aragorn knows it too.

Legolas is a conundrum. He is light and fun and laughter, as much as the young Hobbits. But he is also wisdom and pain and age. If you blink he will change in front of your eyes. I never thought an elf could entrap me. I thought I was immune to their magic and their cunning when I left Imladris. But somehow he has managed it.

It is so good to have him back.

TBC


	9. Chapter 9

**Authors Note: I am trying to stick fairly closely to the book in this story, and usually I write in book universe rather than movie, but I really like the interaction between Legolas and Aragorn during the saving of Pippin from the palantir in the movie and so I have put a it of that in here...my bad!**

I am glad to leave Isengard, for many reasons, not least of all that I am back in my rightful place behind Legolas, on top of Arod. For he is now controlled and contained again. My familiar Legolas, who needs no looking after.

Our meeting with Saruman was not a pleasant one. He is a snake; a wily, poisoned charmer. His words are evil and they twist and turn your mind. They did not affect me though. Not Gimli Gloinson. We dwarves may well be enticed and manipulated by the lure of gold, but a wizards words? They have no power over us. I see right through him although for a moment I fear Theoden may not. He wavers, but in the end he is strong and he triumphs, as the King he is.

I am beyond thankful we did not attempt to go near when Legolas was still in chaos for my blood runs cold thinking of what Saruman could have done, getting his claws into the wide open mind of my elf. But by the time we got there Legolas' walls were well and truly up and if the Wizards words affected him I knew it not. He did not react. He was impenetrable.

I thought the worst was behind us when we left the tower but I was wrong, for Legolas has singlehandedly managed to get the pair of us an invitation to visit Ents. When I told him I would visit Fangorn with him, talking trees were _not_ part of the arrangement. I have no idea how I will extract myself from this. . . Or if that is even possible now, for Legolas is a whirlwind of excitement about it and has sworn he will not go there without me. I can see myself being left with no option.

Still, I think, trying to make the best of a bad situation, the Ent was very impressed with my Orc count. Perhaps it will not be that bad.

Of course it will be bad.

The things I do for that elf.

I keep a wary eye on Legolas while we ride for I am not yet convinced of his wellness and I know now he is adept at concealment. Still even to my careful inspection he seems recovered. He begins to rub his arm shortly before Gandalf calls us to a halt but apart from that there is no hint of his injury, and no more foolish babbling either for which I am extremely grateful.

If anything he is quieter than usual.

Still he gives me a smile as he helps me dismount, so he is at least in good humour.

"Find us a place by the fire, Elvellon, while I see to Arod," he says, "For I wish to be warm tonight and these men will steal all the best spots if you are not careful."

Aragorn is beside us and I see his eyebrows raise in surprise at that name Legolas calls me. I am certain now it is not complimentary and I challenge him on it.

"What is that you call me Legolas? I like to know what it is people say to me."

The smile he bestows on me then is one filled with fondness.

"I have named you elf-friend, Gimli." he says over his shoulder as he takes the horse and guides it away. "But do not waste your time standing here for I do not wish to freeze tonight!"

He leaves me standing there with the wind taken out of my sails for I was prepared for a fight. He calls me friend and that is all? It is very anticlimactic .

"It is a title, an honorific," Aragorn bends down to speak quietly in my ear. "He names you friend to all elves. A serious honor Gimli for few mortals are ever named Elvellon. . . And dwarves?. . . I know of none, unless perhaps Narvi?"

Narvi? Legolas puts me in the same category as he, who fashioned those glorious doors into Moria with the help of the elven lord responsible for the making of those magic rings? I can not live up to that!

Has he lost his mind?

I manage to secure us prime position near the fire to sleep. I want the elf to sleep well tonight, for as I think back I realise he has had little or no rest since his injury. I do not want him falling off and leaving me alone on that drafted horse, I tell myself. But also, I must admit, I am concerned for him.

I have even bought him some food and he is effusive in his thanks when he finally arrives. But I am awkward for there is something I must tell him.

"Legolas-" He looks up from where he spreads out his bedding in surprise. "Aragorn has explained to me the meaning of this Elvellon and I. . ." I take a deep breath before I proceed for I do not know how he will take this, "I am pleased to be your friend Lad. A better friend I could not ask for, but he says it means friend of _all_ elves, and Legolas. . . there are several elves I just do not like! I do not think I can do this."

He laughs and it is a merry sound that cannot fail but to lift the spirit.

"Ah Gimli!" He cries, "There are several that I do not like either! I cannot unsay it, Elvellon. And I do not want to. And if there is anyone more worthy I do not know them. You are a friend to the elves indeed."

He lays himself down then as if there is no more to say in the subject. I am not used to praise and not good at accepting it. I do not know how to do that with grace and without awkwardness and yet I am filled with a warmth, a glow at the thought he thinks so highly of me. I fall asleep with the idea of that in my mind and it is a good feeling.

Sadly we do not sleep for long.

We are awoken with a shout, a cry of terror. It is the hobbit, Pippin. He is a short way apart from us and he has that stone. That drafted evil stone of Saruman's. Why Gandalf did not leave it lying in the mud at the bottom of the swamp that is now Isengard I will never know. It takes me some moments to collect myself and gather my thoughts but it takes Legolas no time at all—his reflexes are so sharp—and he is off running towards him.

Aragorn reaches the hobbit first, tearing the stone from his hands with a cry of his own but it brings him to his knees. Then Legolas is behind him, supporting him, the both of them gazing in horror at whatever they see in it's depths and as the stone falls from Aragorn's hands, I can only watch as the two of them tumble backwards, Legolas breaking Aragorn's fall. But as he does so he lands on top of his sore shoulder, his injury.

It must hurt.

Then suddenly all is in chaos for it seems the wizard believes Sauron himself has reached through the stone to glimpse inside the hobbit's brain. The campsite erupts into a tumult of noise as they argue, Aragorn, Gandalf, Theoden, with the hobbit a quiet, pale, ghost of himself in the midst of them all. And Legolas stands, watching, good hand cradling his injured shoulder. His pain must be bad for he does not even attempt to hide it.

This is all the fault of that stone. Damn the wizard for not being able to leave well enough alone. Now Aragorn claims it. Wrapping it in his cloak before placing it away from sight in his pack, he insists it is his to own, despite the Wizards warnings, despite it having just hurt him. . . and Legolas . . . and the hobbit. We should just throw it away and be done with it.

It is then Legolas moves from his silent watching for he is angry.

"Feanorian magic!" He spits the words angrily at Aragorn, full of bitterness, before he lapses into Sindarin, which I am sure is full of insult, and stalks away.

But Aragorn, apart from shouting after him to let go his prejudice, ignores him. Ignores also the fact Legolas has hurt himself defending him. I am _not_ pleased with that.

Eventually it is decided Gandalf and the hobbit will leave for Minas Tirith immediately, that Pippin cannot remain with us. The rest of us, will turn towards Edoras in the morning to await the muster of the Rohhirim

I leave them discussing details, they do not ask my opinion in any case, and go in search of Legolas.

I find him huddled by the fire, head on his knees, staring into the flames and he is miserable. I am not sure why.

"They have decided Gandalf will take the hobbit and leave us." I say conversationally as I sit next to him.

"Fool of a hobbit, touching that stone." He mutters.

"He is young, Legolas, and curious."

"That is his excuse, so what is Aragorn's for he wishes to bring it with us."

As much as I agree with him the stone is nothing but trouble, a pathway to Sauron it seems, and it would best if we discarded it I do not quite understand why it is upsetting him so. I decide to distract him by assessing his wellness.

"You are in pain. You hurt yourself."

"I fell awkwardly," he shrugs. "It jarred my arm. It is nothing and will settle. Do not worry Gimli."

I am just about to push him harder for details for I have learned never to take him at face value when Aragorn approaches and that is the end of that.

"Gandalf and Pippin prepare to leave. Will you come to see them off? Who knows when we will next see them."

"We have only just found that dratted hobbit," I say with fondness, "and now we must be sundered again. It hardly seems fair, Aragorn."

"And yet you insist on exposing us to the palantir, Aragorn." Legolas speaks over the top of me. He is not going to let this go in a hurry. "When Pippin has proved it is a danger."

"It is mine to own. I will master it and it may be helpful." Aragorn will not be swayed.

"It is _not_ yours! It is Feanor's and no good will come of it. No good comes of anything to do with that cursed line. Kinslayers!" Legolas' vehemence is startling, and totally unannounced. Even Aragorn blinks in surprise.

"Is this Legolas speaking, or your father?" He asks and I remember Gandalf's words contributing the worst of Legolas' criticisms to Thranduil earlier. Aragorn has obviously remembered them too.

It is then we learn our lesson regarding any judgements we may make of Thranduil, for Legolas is on his feet in an instant. Injured arm or not, and he is furious.

"What would you know of my father?" He cries. The words are caustic and Aragorn flinches and yet he still retaliates.

"What Elrond has told me."

"And what would Elrond know? Shuttered away in his secluded paradise as he is. Hiding from the world. Leaving it for the rest of us to die fighting the evil he will not face. He is one step away from a Feanorian himself. Do you know what they did to my people? All for the sake of their jewels?"

I must admire Aragorn his self control for he keeps his cool in the face of this pure storm of anger.

"I know your history Legolas, as I know Elrond's. You know I do. I will not throw away something that could be of use to us simply because of the sins of someone long dead. That would be foolish."

"It is you who are foolish. Already it has proved itself a danger, already it has harmed us. I want nothing to do with it!"

"And I do not _ask_ you too!" Finally Aragorn loses his cool. "If you wish to stay locked behind the prejudice of your elders, entangled in ancient history then so be it, Legolas."

This has gone too far now and I wonder at what has poisoned their tongues and unleashed this vicious need to hurt between the two of them. It is incongruous with all that has gone before. I am just about to step in, just about to distract them when it arrives.

The Nazgul.

Dark and ominous it approaches from above and blankets us with its fear. A fear so chilling, so all consuming, it is as if your very heart itself will cease to beat. I have never felt anything like it. It is pure terror and the men around us submit to it totally. They are in pieces.

Legolas has killed one of these creatures once. Well, killed the thing it rides at least and so it was forced to retreat crying back to its dark master. He shot it out of the sky, on his own, and I am in awe of him for it. To have the presence of mind amidst this horror to do that. . . And to succeed, is courage beyond belief.

He does not attempt it this time. Perhaps because his arm troubles him, for anything but a shot to kill would only draw attention and doom us. Still my eyes are drawn to him as I tear them from the hideous shadow in the sky. Anything to lesson the wave of fear which washes over my soul.

He stands, lit against the dark night by his glow. He does not flinch. He does not look away. His eyes are on the sky, arms by his side, the wind whips his hair across his face, He is beauty, strenght and power, all that is good in this world. In this moment it seems as if he could be one of those ancient elven lords he and Aragorn have just been arguing over.

And the Nazgul flies by, searching for us, hunting, sent out by whatever evil lurks in that stone, that palantir, as Legolas calls it. It flies on and we elude it. Or perhaps it simply reports our location to its master. But for whatever reason it leaves us alone and we can breathe again.

Legolas drops his hand then to my shoulder, a gesture of support as my fear ebbs away? Or a seeking of extra strength for himself? I do not know, but I am pleased to give it to him if he needs it.

And pleased, oh so pleased that he is at my side.


	10. Chapter 10

Legolas is exhausted.

The sleep he so desperately needed has been stolen from him. Stolen by a hobbit with more curiosity than is good for him. And so instead of resting we ride through the night. His arm was painful before we even left and now, judging by the way he shuffles in his seat, it must be agony.

And yet he says nothing.

We ride back in the pack, away from Aragorn for the tension still prickles between them and Legolas is keeping his distance. It is a tension I do not understand for it sprung up from nowhere. That damn stone of the wizard's is poisoning everything.

Suddenly though, and completely unannounced, he spurs our horse forward with an urgency I do not understand, until we draw level with our friend where he rides alongside Eomer and Theodan.

"Someone follows." Legolas' voice is terse and clipped when he speaks. He has forgiven nothing yet.

But Aragorn knows better than to ignore an elven warning for the sake of points scoring. Legolas is our eyes and ears in the dark.

"Someone? Just one? Or is there many?" He asks.

"Many. At least our equal in numbers and they ride hard. They are gaining on us. They have us in their sights."

"Friend or foe?" It is a reasonable enough question but Legolas does not think so.

"I can tell you that they ride and how many but I do not know who they are, Aragorn. I am an elf, not one of the Valar!" He snapped and the words are laced with an antagonism I do not recognise.

Thankfully for them both Eomer interrupts before things deteriorate further.

"We should halt and face them." He says, "It gives us our greatest advantage. We cannot safely flee in this darkness for we will end up lost and scattered." He is a good tactician, that one, and I am fast reassessing my first impression of him.

And so we make our stand. Swords and spears drawn, Aragorn stands by Theodan's side while Eomer flanks him as well. Legolas withdraws, pulls us back into the shadows behind them. His strange eyes glinting wildly. He breathes heavily. More heavily, I now know, than any elf should and I worry for him.

"Legolas, if this should not go well for us, stand behind me. Let my axe protect you." I say and all I get is a grunt in reply. I know he will not do it. I know he will throw himself into the fray even though he is not fit for it and I cannot stop him. But still I had to say it, I had to try.

No one moves, no one stirs, when the unknown riders pull to a stop in front of us. We hold our breaths as we watch one of them dismount and approach his hand held high.

"Who is it that rides through Rohan?" Eomer challenges them his voice ringing across the plains.

"Rohan!" The relief in the strangers voice is palpable. "That is good news indeed. We search for Aragorn, son of Arathorn. We have heard he has need of us."

They search for Aragorn? To hurt him or harm him? This could be either good or bad.

But then Aragorn is striding towards them.

"Halbarad!" He envelops the man in his arms. He obviously knows them for his delight is plain to see, and in front of me the elf's pre-battle tension bleeds out of his muscles as he sinks back into the horse.

"Dunedain," Legolas murmurs to me. "Aragorn's kin from the north. We are in no danger from them. Though how they knew he needed them is a mystery."

We watch then, silently, as Aragorn greets his kinsmen and makes his introductions. He does not include us in them. . . I presume we are simply not important enough. Then Legolas sees something that bothers him. I hear the hiss of his breath and feel the clench of the muscles in his back.

"The Elrondionath." There is a hint of distaste in his voice as he says it. Whatever or whoever they are it is obvious they are not something he wished to see.

"What is that, Legolas?" I ask

"Who." He says quietly, "See the two half elves. They are different from the rest. Those are Elrond's sons. _Noldor!"_ He spits the last word out and it is filled with a bitterness that is incongruous to the Legolas I know.

And now he points them out I do see them. Tall, noble, elegant and severe. They glow almost as Legolas does. I have seen them before of course, in Imladris. Even as we speak one of them looks towards us. His eyes drifting across Legolas and he scowls, before turning away, back to his brother.

"He does not like the look of you, Legolas. What have you done to him?"

"Nothing, he simply dismisses me. I am only a silvan wild child. Have you not noticed Gimli?" He turns and gives me a flash of his brilliant grin. The look does not bother him then . . . It certainly would me.

The rest of the ride is easier, less frantic. As if the presence of these Dunedain have somehow soothed Aragorn's edgy nerves. But for Legolas, I think, Helms Deep can not arrive soon enough. By the time we arrive he has lost his normal elegant stance, instead he slumps forward against the neck of the horse and if he thinks he hides his soft gasps of pain at the jolting of the horse he is fooling himself. I hear all. In the end I am relieved when the ride ends simply for his sake. It pains me to watch him. Never have I been as happy to reach a small dingy room as I am when we stumble in to ours.

In the lamplight he looks to be at the end of his endurance. His face pale, dark circles underneath his eyes, and he sighs heavily as he deposits his belongings before collapsing on the bed.

"I will fetch Aragorn!" I say, moving towards the door. "You need a healer."

"I do not, Gimli." He waves his hand dismissively at me. "I am tired, yes, but it will pass."

"And you are in pain. Do not seek to hide it from me!"

"That will settle also." He turns his back to me to let me know our conversation is done.

"Well Aragorn will be here shortly whether or not I call. He knows you are not yet fit." I have a sudden need to get in the last word and I am confident our friend will soon arrive to check on my Elven companion.

But it turns out I wrong.

Aragorn does not come.

As I watch, Legolas pulls off his tunic clumsily, well at least attempts to. But he ends up in a tangle of limbs and clothes and gives up with a sigh.

"Will you help me at least, Gimli? This is not easy one handed. Or will you just take joy in sitting and watching me struggle?" His weariness is getting to him and the edge of his temper is showing. I do not wish to be on the receiving end of that.

My stomach sinks with disappointment when I place my hand on his bad arm to help him out and it comes away dark and sticky with blood that has been hidden in the bad light.

"Legolas! Why did you not tell me you were bleeding?" I can see now it has seeped through the edge of the bandages Aragorn insisted he wear. What was he thinking hiding this?

"Relax, Gimli. It is nothing,"

"It is not nothing, you foolish boy!" I pull away from him and turn to the door. "I am finding Aragorn now!"

But quick as a flash his good hand is out, grasping my arm and stopping me from going anywhere. He may be tired and bleeding but he is still strong.

"No!" His eyes flash with a sudden determination. "Leave it Gimli. I know this is strange to you but I am an elf. . . and this truly is _nothing._ The wound split when I fell but if you just let me sleep it will be healed again by morning."

"You are an elf and so it should not have split open in the first place!" I _know_ I am right about this.

And he shrugs,

"Perhaps you are right. If it makes you happy I will see Aragorn when I wake and tell him all. But his family have arrived Gimli, they have stepped out of the shadows just when his burdens are weighing him down. Let him be. Let him be alone with them just this one night without us bothering him."

It is a good point he raises and yet I am left more than a little bit confused.

"I thought you were angry with him?"

"I am." He chews his lip, looking every inch a sulky child. "But imagine it Gimli, if _our_ kin arrived unexpectedly. How good would it be to see them now? How precious that time would be."

He is right. He is so absolutely right. And for a moment it is all I can do. I stand and imagine they are here.

"That would be good indeed, Legolas."

"But they will not come for us," he continues, shrugging off the rest of his shirt. "There is war in both our lands and our people will not have time or ability to search us out. Still we can give Aragorn this night alone with his, can we not?"

He smiles sadly across at me before he lies back on the bed and I can sense his relief to finally be horizontal. In fact it seems like seconds only before his eyes glaze over in that strange thing that he calls sleep. I will never get used to it, it is so unnerving. I stand and watch him until I am sure he will not rouse and then I leave.

He may be right. It may do Aragorn good to be free of us this night but as much as I may wish it I have this elf to care for and whatever he tells me I know he needs assistance. So I roam the corridors searching for our leader, but I do not find him.

His room is empty and he seems not to be with those grim Dunedain either, nor the kitchens or the hall. I even try amongst the healers. And as I search my anger increases. Where is he when we need him? Why has he not at least checked to see Legolas is well? For all he knows those dratted herbs of his still effect him.

And by the time I admit defeat and return to our room,

I am furious.


	11. Chapter 11

**Authors Note: So genuine question...is it still worth me posting this here? Because writing into a void** ** _is_** **becoming a bit depressing. It tells me this is probably not that great. Let me know if it is, (or don't let me know at all and I will probably stop posting then too TBH) :-)**

As tired as I am, sleep eludes me for a long time. Instead my stomach churns with anger, possibly born from that tiredness itself. In the end though, after days of stress, of endless riding, my body defeats my mind and I sleep.

When I wake the room is filled with the light steaming through the window and seems far less dingy than the night before. A glance across to Legolas tells me he still sleeps.

He lies still upon the bed, eyes half open in that unnerving way he has. It never fails to make my heart flip to see because to my mind, at first glance, he lies as if dead. Even though I know he sleeps, always, always, my first thoughts when I see him are a brief flash of panic. Still this morning I am pleased he gets the rest he so obviously needs.

And so I dress slowly, carefully, for trying not to disturb an elf is a difficult task indeed. Especially for a dwarf. I will be the first to admit although we have other strengths, stealth is not always one of them.

I will _never_ admit that to Legolas though! He would be insufferable if I did and I would never hear the end of it.

I determine I will go in search of food, for how can he heal without sustenance? And I will bring it to him. Perhaps I will have more luck finding Aragorn today also, if so I will bring _him_ to the elf as well.

The dining hall is a cacophony of sound and smells, most of them delicious, some of them not—do these men _ever_ wash?— and my stomach rumbles with hunger. And what do you know? Aragorn is here! He sits with those glaring half elves and the stern, serious, Dunedain in the far corner. He did not come to see us first I note, as he previously would have. He looks haggard, tired beyond belief. Did he not sleep at all then? For a moment I feel a rush of sympathy, because he is my friend and Legolas is right, he is burdened. But then I remember Legolas, sitting in our room last night, tired, bleeding and ignored by the one person he would trust enough to heal him, my friend who was in pain and alone,misplayed in this world of Men, and I swallow that sympathy down and bury it deep inside.

Instead I march up with an attitude and a temper.

Aragorn prods his food with melancholy and fatigue. He barely notices me, if at all, until the particularly bad tempered half elf draws his attention to my arrival—I am sure it is the one who sneered at Legolas with disdain last night, but how do I tell? The pair of them look exactly the same.

Your dwarf is here, Estel." He says, and I feel myself bristling with indignation.

"I am _no-ones_ dwarf!"

Aragorn looks up in surprise at my voice and his eyes drift past me, behind me, searching for Legolas.

"Where is Legolas? Is he not with you, Gimli?"

Now is the time for me to launch in to my attack.

"He is sleeping, Aragorn. He was unwell when we arrived. Did you forget about his injury?"

And Aragorn has the grace to look ashamed, placing a hand on my arm when he speaks.

"Has he recovered?"

"How would I know?" My words sound angry and bitter and I do not temper them, for why should I? "I am no healer but I am all he has had since we seem to have slipped your mind."

"I _told_ him to call me, Gimli. You were there, you know that. I told him, if he needed me, to call and I would come."

"We cannot call you if we cannot find you."

I turn my back on him before my anger truly gets the better of me and begin piling a plate full of food to take back to my elf.

Out of the corner of my eye I see the slightly less sullen of the confusing identical elves lean forward to touch Aragorn and get his attention.

"Legolas is injured Estel?" He asks, frowning, "What has happened?"

"A wound to his arm. There was a shard of the blade left behind and it was tainted with evil. That has complicated things...the wound heals more slowly than I would like..."

"Heals?" I grumble. "It has split open, Aragorn, when he fell yesterday. It has not healed at all."

And his face creases in consternation.

"When he fell?"

Suddenly I realise the heavy blow Legolas took trying to protect him has completely passed him by.

"When you were wrestling with that damn stone, Aragorn. He broke your fall. How can you not remember? He has been struggling ever since then. He arrived here covered in blood. If you had been to see him you would not need me to tell you this."

"Can my brother not get even one night of respite?" The Son of Elrond I have already decided I do _not_ like scowls at me across the table. "There are healers a plenty here. Is Thranduilion not capable of visiting one of them?"

"They are Men and he does not trust them!"

"Why am I not surprised a Woodelf would be so uneducated?" It is the last straw. What little control I had over my tongue disappears. I am tired, far from home and things look dire for us. I do not need to listen to this elf disparage my friend and I have to admit I am more than a little hurt by Aragorn's seeming withdrawal from our company.

"Is he uneducated though?" I pour my scorn over this interloper. "Is it not your Mannish blood that makes you so obnoxious?"

For a moment I think it will come to blows for he is irate. Thank goodness the table stands between us, but I am prepared to give as good as I get. He is everything I used to believe elves would be, arrogant, self-opinionated, and rude.

"Elrohir! Calm yourself!" His stern, quiet brother keeps him in his seat or I think he would have jumped the table to reach me and beside me I hear Aragorn sigh,

"Gimli," he mutters, "Do you _have_ to regress to this?"

I am a hairs breath away from launching into a defence of my friend, and myself, when the quiet one interrupts my train of thought by finally addressing me as if I am worthy of notice.

"How long since Legolas received this injury? How many days are we speaking of?" He asks.

And my words freeze even before I can utter them, for how many days _has_ it been? Lack of sleep, riding at night, the fatigue of battle, has meant the days all sit in a jumble in my mind and I look in desperation to Aragorn for help but he is no better. He runs a hand through his hair in frustration and his shoulders slump.

"Two?" He frowns, uncertain, "Three? If you could look at him, Elladan, for me. How ever many days it is, it is too long. Some elven healing of the fea may be what he needs...to remove the taint of evil? I cannot do it."

And Elladan, for that is obviously this one's name, reaches forward and places a hand gently in Aragorn's shoulder.

"I promise I will see him before we leave."

So they are leaving? I cannot say a part of me is not relieved. Still it does seem strange. Why come searching for Aragorn only to leave him?

"You are leaving?" I ask, "Already?"

And I see Aragorn's eyes meet those of his Brother's and then slide away. Away from me. He does not meet my gaze.

So he is leaving with them.

"And were you planning on telling us, Aragorn? Before you deserted us? What of the Fellowship?"

"Of course!" He snaps. "I hoped you would come also. I just have not had the chance-"

'Have you not?" It is gratifying to know he wishes for our company still, but really...he has had ample time to find us and discuss this with us. "So tell me then, where it is you want to go."

"My Father has sent a message..." He continues, "He suggests the Paths of the Dead and I can see no other option. It is in that direction I have decided to travel"

The Paths of the Dead? The words echo in my brain, and they do not fill me with anything but trepidation. I am not the most learned but I am also not totally ignorant. I know what it is he refers to...and I know where it is...and as I think of it a wave of anxiety washes over me. Surely he has forgotten—he has made a mistake, he does not mean this!

"The Paths of the Dead, Aragorn? Surely you jest and it is _not_ amusing!"

"I assure you I am deadly serious."

The words of Galadriel are ringing in my ears...he cannot _do_ this.

"The Paths of the Dead will lead us too close to the sea!" I cry and he looks at me with confusion. "You cannot have forgotten, you cannot have forgotten this! Galadriel's message to Legolas, tell me you have _not_ forgotten!" But the look of absolute horror on his face tells me instead that he has.

"Galadriel has sent Legolas a message?" The elf called Elladan interrupts us while Aragorn struggles to regain his composure and I burn with fury. "What did it say?"

"Yes, what did it say, Aragorn?" My words are biting and I do not care for he has hurt me beyond all hurt and I will retaliate if I can. "Tell this elf lord who is suddenly so important to you of the words the Lady had for our friend you have no care for!"

And Aragorn buries his head in his hands.

"How can I have forgotten that?" He asks himself mournfully and Elladan instead looks to me for answers. I have no hesitation in telling him but I do not fool myself he will care.

"She told him not to go to the sea. He will die if he goes there."

His elegant unlined brows knit together in a frown and he leans forward towards me.

"My Grandmothers words are often not what they seem. Was the warning that specific?"

"Specific enough for us to have no doubt!" I snap, "Do not seek to look for excuses for Aragorn's negligence for I will not hear them!"

But he is not cowed by my anger.

"Tell me," he demands. "Tell me what she said."

"That he should beware of the gulls. His heart will rest in the forest no more should he hear them! And now he is ill, he is ill and injured and Aragorn leads him to the sea!" I fold my arms in triumph. It is _not_ ambiguous to me, even Legolas himself thinks she spoke of his death...for what else is there?

And he is silenced, that tall, dark Elf-lord. He sees I am right and Aragorn can not do this.

For Legolas will follow him. I know that for a fact. My mind is filled with an image of him when his mind was addled by those herbs. Riding in front of Aragorn, telling him of his respect and admiration, that he would follow him to the end of this no matter what. He will go, he will go and I will lose him.

The emotion that chokes me at that thought is sudden and unexpected.

"You did not give him even one thought!" I accuse Aragorn. "He is only one small woodelf and you have thrown him aside like rubbish. You can _not_ ask him to follow you there."

And behind me a voice sounds, light, sweet and joyful. There is a smile in that voice that breaks my heart and I cannot bear to hear it.

"Aragorn must not ask me to follow him where, Gimli?"

Legolas has arrived.


	12. Chapter 12

**Authors Note: Thank you SO much for all the reviews and encouragement! So much appreciated, here is the next chapter. So happy to know there are people out there who still want to see what happens.**

 **To all the guests who I haven't been able to answer by pm, (and I wish I could) thank you too.**

 **RoB: Glad to hear you like Maewen. And I promise there will be a sequel to "Darkness" and I do have plans for Legolas to meet Laerion :-)**

 **Rita Orca: The thought of a Gollem in disguise reading my stories made me laugh!**

 **Violet: So glad you like the twins in this. I know they are different and I was a bit nervous about that.**

 **And last but not least, JustMe from the previous chapter...yeah Aragorn...what was he thinking? He was not obviously!**

 **anyway on with the story and a change of pov.**

 **Legolas: Helms Deep**

There is nothing so good as waking to the soft warmth of golden sunlight in your face. I think not anyway. And so, when I wake, I am filled with joy, with light, and everything that dragged me down the night before has vanished.

I am surprised however, when I sit up to find I am alone. Gimli is not there.

There is only one thing for it then. I must go and find him.

My arm, which was agony the night before, has improved as I told Gimli it would. When I peer at it I can see the edges have sealed themselves. It is but a pale mark upon my skin yet again. Briefly I think about bandaging it but I cannot do that one handed. What will it hurt to leave it free? As long as Aragorn does not find out and nag me from here to eternity.

But despite my words last night to Gimli I know he is right. All is not as it should be with that and now I can feel it. It has settled into a numbness which presses against my soul. Who here can rid me of it though? Even Aragorn will not be able to reach it. Here amongst Men there is no one able to caress the emptiness away from the heart of me, instead I will turn my mind from it and hope strength of will can overcome it.

I have no other choice.

Apart from that one thing I feel refreshed and myself again. Far more myself than the day before. My strolls along the dream-paths have washed clean the burned edges of my soul. The charcoal darkness I acquired when it was singed by a rush of evil surging from that cursed palantir has gone. But I must find Aragorn, for that evil tinged my tongue as well, I know it and he was on receiving end.

It is good to be rid of it, to be light and free again but I must make my amends.

I find him in the dining hall, and Gimli along with him which is good. They are across the far side meaning I have to make my way through crowds of stale smelling men to reach them and unfortunately the Elrondionath are there as well. Did they really _have_ to sit with them?

One of the Noldor notices me as I wind my way across room. I see him watching me, his eyes burn as he looks at me with disdain and arrogance. I will ignore it I tell myself. I will not let him sway me from my path. If he thinks so little of me why does he bother watching me in the first place?

Gimli, it seems is unhappy. His arms wave in frustration and annoyance and he is quite red in the face. Aragorn has obviously displeased him and I have a sinking feeling it is to do with me. I thought I had explained, last night, why Aragorn would gravitate to his family's side, that my ill health was not as dire as Gimli seemed to think—but it seems not, for what else but that can be bothering him to this extent?

Now it seems I must patch things up between them as well as apologising for my own harsh words. Sometimes mortals are such hard work!

It is only when I draw near that I pick Gimli's words out from the chaos that surrounds him.

"You did not give him even one thought! He is only one small woodelf and you have thrown him aside like rubbish. You can _not_ ask him to follow you there." What _is_ he talking of?

"Aragorn must not ask me to follow him where, Gimli?" I ask and Gimli spins round to face me. I have taken him by surprise. He did not see me approach. You think the least the watchful Noldor could have done was warn them I was coming if they insist on speaking about me behind my back.

But now Gimli's face is full of horror—no, as I look closer I see it is not that. It is not the shame of discovery. He is devastated and his eyes fill with tears. What is wrong? What has happened while I slept?

"Gimli?" I place a hand gently on his small shoulder, for I am filled with a need to comfort...but comfort him from what? "What is wrong?" And when he does not answer I turn to Aragorn.

"Where is it you are going?"

Aragorn looks exhausted to my eyes, white faced and weary. It is as if he has had no sleep at all. What were his brothers thinking? Did they not force him to rest? He can not lead us like this!

But he answers me at least as Gimli would not.

"Elrohir has brought a message from my Father." He says, "Elrond suggests I take the Paths of the Dead."

Elrohir. The brother who's eyes followed me across the room as if he wished to tear me limb from limb. The one who sneered at me last evening like I was dirt beneath his feet. So he brings a message from Elrond which causes discontent. Why am I not surprised.

I must admit I am not as learned on some things as I should be. I did not always pay the attention to detail in my studies I should have, much to my Father's unhappiness. My mind was on the trees and it was hard to pin it down into the bounds of a room and old books. I know what the Paths of the Dead refers to, but at first I struggle to picture exactly where that will take us. Still it does not bother me.

"The Paths of the Dead?" I say jauntily to cover my desperate searching for geographical information. "So be it then. I am not afraid of them. They do not bother me, they are not _my_ Dead after all." Is that what Gimli is anxious about? Does he worry about ghosts? I would not have picked him to be the nervous kind.

"It is not the place that is the problem, Legolas." Finally Gimli finds the voice to speak. "It is where it will take us!" And when I look at him blankly he sighs before he elaborates. "It takes us too close to the gulls, Legolas," he says gently. "It takes us towards the sea. If you choose to follow Aragorn he will lead you to the sea."

And finally I understand.

He speaks of Galadriel's warning. A warning I have forced to the back of my mind for what was the point of dwelling on it? If I am to die then I will die. There is no point thinking on it beforehand. But it was easy to ignore when the gulls remained a vague and far away threat. Now they are real. How do I feel about it when it very well might come true?

I do not know.

"So you see you cannot go, Legolas. It would be foolish and you cannot go there!" Gimli pleads but I do not know that he is right.

"I have no choice." Aragorn says bluntly, "There is no other way for me that I can see, I am sorry, Legolas." But the dwarf harrumphs behind me and I wonder why he pours scorn upon Aragorn's apology.

"So Galadriel sends a warning of my death and Elrond sends a message that will lead me there. How typical of the Noldor." I say numbly in the end. "I would rather they stayed out of this if they do not have the courage to join us."

I know that sends Elrohir's temper surging, it is his father and Grandmother I speak of after all. I can feel his displeasure brush my fea and in truth that is partly why I said it. He irritates me and it is good to retaliate.

"What has Elrond said that makes you so sure this is the right way, Aragorn? He is not always right."

His words flood out then, his justifications, they flow over me like ice.

"It is not Elrond alone who has turned my mind this way. I saw a vision last night, a force descends upon Minas Tirith unseen. It will annihilate them. We need help. Help and a fast way to reach them. There is no other way Legolas. None I can think of. I have no choice!"

And my heart closes over.

For Aragorn is not given to visions, I know that. Some of his kind are but he is not one of them. He would not have dreamed this. There is only one way, to my mind he would know it.

"You have looked in the Palantir." My words fall like stone. Why has he done this? Why, when I warned him of its evil. Did he not feel that presence within it last night, the one that burned my soul?

And he meets my eyes then.

"Yes," he says, and nothing else.

It is then my temper snaps.

"There is _evil_ in that stone, Aragorn! How blind are you that you did not feel it last night? You place our future on a vision gained from a weapon of the enemy. You are a fool!"

"It is my right to wield it and I have!" His voice is raised now. "I took control and I mastered it. The vision I saw is a true one."

"Or one planted in your mind by Sauron himself and you cannot even see the truth of it. I was tainted by the touch of him last night, were you not?" I turn to his brothers then, anger at them surging through my veins.

"How could you let him do this? Sauron himself is in that Stone!"

"It was the right thing for him to do," Elladan —the one who's scorn of me is less—answers. "We were there to protect him."

It is all falling apart and Gimli is right—was right last night. Aragorn has abandoned us. He throws us aside like unneeded refuse. He will take me to my death, a death I am _not_ ready for!

"So you lead me to my death." I say to him coldly, "and to do so you use a tool made by one whose family slaughtered my people. Based on a message sent by another who was raised by them. How fitting."

I say it to hurt, as he hurts me.

"If Elrond cares any for the world outside his enclave why does he not prise out his precious Noldor to fight for us, send us an army led by Glorfindel? Then you would not have to look in stones that seek to harm you, to find help from those long dead."

The rage that accosts me at those words, from Elrohir, is a blast of fire, but to his credit he says nothing.

And nor does Aragorn.

"I know the cost you pay for your leadership." I say to him in the end, as I struggle to calm the turmoil inside me. I must _not_ make a scene here. I must not shame my father any more than I have done on this quest already. "I know what it is to lead in the dark, to make choices where there are none. When your options are only how many you will lose, when you cannot save everyone. I _know_ that Aragorn for I have been there. I do not blame you if the best choice ahead of you is one which will sacrifice _me,_ but tell me one thing.

"When you thought on this...did you give any thought to me?"

And the look on his face tells me he did not.

He does not have to say a word. He forgot about me entirely.

And so I turn and flee. I must get away from them all with their pitying eyes.

"Legolas!" Gimli grabs at my arm as I spin away from him, "Wait. lad!"

"Leave me alone!" He of all of them does not deserve my temper and yet he receives it. "I have much to think on. Leave me alone to do it!"

I cannot get out of that hall fast enough.

I climb then. It is what I do, how I find the core of myself where I can be calm. At home I would take to the trees, to the high tops where I can look out across the forest, where it is almost as if I could take to the skies and fly. There are no trees here.

And so I climb, and I climb, and I climb. As high as I can get...to the very top, until I can climb no higher. Somewhere I am sure no one will find me, no one would dare follow.

And I sit, and I look, over the world that is alien, strange, not my place and I think of a death I do not want, and the people I may never see again.

But I did not count of the fleet-footedness of a Noldor, nor the stubbornness of a dwarf.

For of course they find me.

Gimli will not let me go.

 **The scene between Gimli and Legolas that happens up here in the heights of Helms Deep can be found in the oneshot "The Heart wants what it wants" You can consider that scene a direct lift from this story. I am not going to be rewriting it in its detail here ...will be writing around it a bit...so if you are curious to see what Gimli and Legolas have to say to each other, have a look at that story if you haven't already**

 **:-)**


	13. Chapter 13

**Authors Note: So many people have asked me the question "Why do they all assume Galadriel's message means death when it says nothing of the sort?" so I thought I would answer that question here. Especially for guests I cannot PM.**

 **In the books Gandalf gives Aragorn and Legolas messages from Galadriel when they find him alive and well in Fangorn. Aragorn's message is first...a depressing death ridden riddle which says something about the path he must take being lined with the dead. Legolas' "Your heart will not rest beneath the trees" follows. Hearing that so closely after Aragorn's means the two messages combine to be truly morbid.**

 **Gimli then complains as to why Galadriel did not send a message to him. To which Legolas replies, "Would you have her speak openly about your death?"**

 **To to me this seems a clear indication that he, at least intially, believed her message did, indeed, refer to his death. Gandalf then ponders the messages and says he cannot determine their meaning. He does not correct Legolas' assumption of death...and so that's the interpretation I have gone with.**

 **This story is based on Book Canon, not Movie Canon, which may explain any discrepancies you may think you come across. Hope that helps :-)**

 **Oh...one last thing...the eaves-dropping conversation Legolas and Elladan refer to here can be found in the story "Lost in Translation"**

How do you prepare for death?

I, for one, do not know how it go about it. I sit in the heights and think of those I love. My home, which I may never see again and the ones I left there. My father, my love, my friends. What I would do for just one more glimpse of them.

When I left Imladris I knew I might not return and yet then it was abstract, remote, a chance only. Now? It seems much more real.

I have so much I do not wish to leave behind. It will destroy my Father, I know that, for he has already lost one son. Do I turn back now? Is that why Galadriel sent her message? Is that what she wished me to do? It frustrates me, that message, and I wish she had never sent it. Better that I did not know what loomed ahead of me. Better to go blindly towards whatever fate might hold.

It is not all bad, I tell myself, if the worst happens. I will see my father again. I am sure of that. He will beat down the doors of the Halls of Mandos itself to reach me if he has to. And all those I love from home, they too will follow him over the sea when he searches for me. And there are those who have gone before...who have ventured into death ahead of me. Do they linger in the halls still? Will I know them if I see them?

Will my brother be there...waiting for me?

I look across this foreign landscape, so alien, so far from home and try to find some answers but there are none.

I am not one to turn from adversity, I do not desert friends in dark places. I cannot leave Aragorn and Gimli now. It is accepting what it is I may be walking towards that is the difficult part. . . And the loss of my home most of all, for my loved ones may follow me, but my home I will not be able to reach from beyond the veil. What will it be to never again see those green trees, to feel the thrum of peace within my heart in the depths of the forest?

When the Noldor arrives I do not hear him.

But I sense him. After so long surronded by mortals the presence of an Elven soul is like a beacon, an oasis in the desert. Even a Noldo one. I have not realised how isolated I have become. How much my fea yearns for the brush of others. Lately it has been like living my life behind glass. I can see my friends but not touch them, and slowly my light dims.

So, instead of welcoming him with the sarcasm and resistance I would wish to, my spirit soars in recognition of a one like it, a flash of relief within me.

"May I join you?" He asks and his words fire up the resentment my uncontrollable, recalcitrant fea has overlooked.

"Are you sure I am good enough? Do not get too close, my wildness and unsuitability may be catching." A flash of a long forgotten, overheard conversation flies through my mind. "Uncivilised, I think you called me, However will Aragorn manage me?"

"You _heard_ that?" He is at once both shocked and offended.

"I was in the trees when you arrived," I shrug my shoulders, "What would you have had me do?"

"Declare yourself. That would be the honorable thing." He is right, of course, but eavesdropping was far more interesting—still—

"Perhaps you are right," I admit grudgingly, "but it still remains, that is how you see me."

He drops to sit beside me then, close but not too close. We are not friends after all.

"It was jealousy and resentment that made me speak those words." He says, "And they were undeserved. I am sorry for them." It is more than I would have have given him had our positions been reversed and I cannot deny I am impressed. Still, he continues. "Estel has had nothing but glowing praise for you, and how you have conducted yourself on this quest. He would have no other with him now, I think.. . Perhaps, even us."

I am surprised to hear Aragorn has told them of me. Surely they have had far more important things to discuss than a Woodelf? It lifts my heart though, to hear it.

"He has not completely forgotten about me then."

And Elladan turns to me with serious eyes.

"Do not judge Estel too harshly. His burden is a heavy one. None of his choices are good ones, and he is as tired as I have ever seen him. You are dear to him, but when there is so much at stake and no clear path. . . Sometimes things get lost amongst the chaos. He berates himself for it now."

I am silent then for while I understand it I am not sure I am ready to forgive it just yet—but I know, eventually, I will.

He waits then for me to speak but when I do not I hear him sigh before he carries on.

"Still, I would have us start again. I know you harbour some resentment toward my people, and some of it, perhaps, is justified. But can we not see past that? The two of us can be better than that if we try. You have managed it with the dwarf after all it seems. I have never heard a dwarf argue so fiercely in defence of an elf before!"

I am tempted by his offer of a truce, I truly am, but the memory of his brother's eyes burning through me, scorning me, resurfaces to hold me back.

"I do not think your brother would agree with your magnanimous proposal, for it is obvious he hates me." The laughter that accompanies my words is harsh and bitter for Elrohir's obvious disdain does hurt me.

"But I am not my brother." He says firmly. "Do not judge me by him. He is angry, I admit, that my Father did not send us with Estel, and that anger is misplaced for that is _not_ your fault, but my father is not here for him to rage at and so you will bear the brunt of it. I would ask you to be patient with him if you would."

I am not sure I _want_ to be patient with him, truth be told.

And so Elladan tries again, he is nothing if not determined, I have to give him that.

"The dwarf has told us of Galadriel's message. I thought I might be able to aid you there."

"You can aid me by telling her I would rather not have had any message from her if it was not to be a plain one! I would rather my death be a surprise if it is to happen."

He laughs, a true laugh, full of affection and it takes me quite by surprise.

"Grandmother cannot help but meddle," he smiles, "It is one of her worst characteristics and drives my father to distraction."

It is rather amusing to imagine Elrond, Lord of Imladris swearing under his breath as Galadriel tries to interfere with his affairs. Despite myself I cannot help but give a smile in return.

"Her words are never plain ones," he continues. "She speaks in riddles and clouds their meaning. . . I wonder. . ."

He is choosing his words carefully now, so carefully I can almost feel him mentally tiptoeing between his options to find those least likely to cause offence.

"Have you considered the possibility she means something other than death lies ahead for you? Your heart will not rest beneath the trees. . . Could it be, rather than the fact you will not return home alive, she might mean you will no longer find solace there as you have done?"

And I scoff for he obviously knows nothing about woodelves.

"Nothing can separate me from my woods! It is a part of my very soul. To lose it would mean death itself. No matter how far I roam, home is home. The woods _are_ Legolas!"

He is silent then for a short time and I wonder if I have scared him off. But, no. Eventually he speaks again.

"You have heard of the sea-longing?"

The sea-longing. Of course I have heard of it. A cruel twist of fate that turns my people's hearts against their home and towards the other side of the sea. Tearing apart families and giving no peace until they give in and sail. I have seen several over my life succumb to it.

"Yes." is all I tell him. I do not wish to elaborate upon what I think of his Noldor people's sterile home across the sea and the gods who torment us to follow.

"She mentions the gulls, Legolas, and so perhaps. . . Long have we known the sea holds perils for the Sindar when they venture too near. It ignites the yearning in their hearts. And you are Sindar are you not?"

Could he be right? Now I think on it, it is certainly a possibility, an alternative we have not thought of up until now. It makes sense. It makes complete sense.

And yet it changes nothing.

"What difference does that make!" I cry, " Sea-longing or death. Both will separate me from the people and places I love and there is no coming back from there. I think I might even prefer Mandos' Halls to being driven to sail to a place I have no wish to be."

Although my Mother is there.

Does she miss me?

"You do not have to sail." He says softly, "I known it is seldom heard of but you can resist the call if you are not ready. It is possible to live here in Arda with the sea-longing if you wish. Not entirely pleasant, but possible."

I have never heard of such a thing, and certainly never seen it.

"It is an option only." He continues hurriedly. "I do not pretend I am an expert at deciphering my Grandmothers riddles and possibly you are right and it is death she predicts for you. But it need not be. I thought knowing that might make your choice easier."

And I laugh, for it is obvious he does not know me.

"My choice was easy all along. I will follow Aragorn. That was never in doubt, no matter where it leads me, no matter how grim the outcome. I only needed time to adjust to the idea of all I would leave behind. To let it go."

We fall into silence, but he does not leave as I expected and as we sit and gaze out across the land below us an idea grips me, as his words echo through my mind. A glimpse, a flash, a connection . . . For how does he know?

"How is it you are so well-informed about the sea-longing Elladan?"

He does not miss a beat in his reply.

"My father has a library full of books and he has forced me to read many of them!"

It is a perfectly reasonable explanation. . . And yet. . .

"I am Sindar as you say, Sindar and Silvan both, and I have seen some of my people struggle. But I have never seen. . .never heard of someone who remains despite it. How do you _know_ it is possible?"

"Likely I read it in my studies." He waves his arm dismissively. It is a tactic I use myself when I want to distract and mislead. It is then I know.

And I look at him in shock for this cannot be true. I have heard not even a whisper of it. I would have known this. . We all would have known it!

"Do your brothers know?" It is a strangled horrified gasp that I ask him with in the end.

Aragorn has said nothing of this.

"Does Aragorn know?"

For surely he _must._ Surely it would not be possible to hide something as significant as this.

"Does Aragorn _know_?"


	14. Chapter 14

**Legolas briefly refers to a conversation in "Masters of Fate" here.**

"Does _Aragorn_ know?"

Elladan looks at me, his face completely innocent, as if he has no idea what it is I am asking.

"I am sure he is aware of my reading habits," he says as if the question confuses him totally. "He has seen me in the library many times...although perhaps he cares not about such details as which books I choose."

Oh he is good at this, good enough to fool his Noldor and Mortal brothers perhaps, but he does not fool me and I move in for the kill.

"Does he know you have the sea-longing, Elladan?"

And quickly he looks away.

"Elladan?" I press home my advantage then. "It is obviously yourself, you speak of. Why tell me this and then deny it?"

"He does not know it." He resolutely keeps his eyes turned towards the horizon. "And Elrohir does not either. I would prefer it if you kept it that way."

He leaves me wondering how on earth he has kept this from his twin.

"How can Elrohir not know? How can he possibly not know?"

"Because if he does not expect it then he does not see it. I am quite capable of shielding things from him if I wish. We do have _some_ privacy."

"Why would you not want him to know? Why hide it in the first place?" My mind struggles to comprehend what he has just told me. It is so far beyond the way I saw him I am finding it difficult to accept.

He turns back to me then, sunlight casting shadows across his face which brings to my mind how I have imagined the Noldor heroes of old. He is magestic.

"Elrohir has not made his choice. He does not know if he will stay with Arwen or go to our Mother. I would wish him to come to his own decision, and not be pressurised into one because of my affliction.

"But surely he would follow you."

"He probably will. . . "He sounds wistful then, "but I would like him to work that out for himself if he could. . . And Aragorn? It would only cause him to blame himself for my remaining here. And telling him would not change anything."

"Your Father?" Surely Elrond could discern this!

It seems so, for he laughes loudly at my foolishness.

"Of course! How could I ever deceive him? Or my Grandmother for that matter? I would have to spend my time avoiding them and that, in itself, would alarm them."

We sit then, in silence for a while as I try to process this. It tumbles around my brain making less sense the more I think on it and the questions pile up behind my silence demanding answers so loudly that in the end I cannot contain them.

"Why are you even here?" I ask, the words burst out of me like the breaking of a dam. "Why do you not sail to your mother? Do you not wish to see her? What could possibly hold you here?"

And he answers me with a question. A most annoying trait my father also has.

"What would hold _you_ here?" He says quietly. "If the sealonging is truly in your future, what would hold you here? Or would you go? You Mother also is over the sea."

It is not a fair question I think but perhaps mine was not also.

It is, however, easy to answer.

"My home, my people, my father. He has lost one son already, I would not have him lose another, no matter how temporary. My friends—"

I pause then as I think on Gimli, he is one of those friends now, and Aragorn, no matter how frustrated with him I am at the moment. They will not follow me across the sea. They would be lost to me forever.

"Aragorn and Gimli . . . It would be the last I saw of them. Why would I hasten that goodbye?"

And he smiles sadly,

"And there you have it, for me also, Legolas. Estel and Arwen. How can I leave them before they leave me?"

His grief for them is palpable, but he swallows it down and continues,

"And there is still work for me to do here! I do not _want_ to go."

He hoists himself to his feet then. He has obviously decided enough is enough and he has had his fill of entertaining a poor Woodelf today.

"Think on what I have said, Legolas. Nothing is certain but perhaps things are not as dire as they seem. I thought knowing this might ease your burden, help make your decision easier, but as you say, it is no decision anyway."

I lean myself back against the cool of the stone behind me and watch him as he turns to go. My arm is aching, a slow dull throb and I reach to rub it, to try and rid myself somehow of that numbness inside it. It does not work, but he sees my movement. I should have been more careful, swallowed the pain and waited longer.

His eyes, when he stares at me, flash with suspicion.

"The dwarf said you were injured. He said it was not healing. Let me see."

I am not about to voluntarily give myself up to help so easily.

"It is fine. Slightly slow to mend but nothing to be concerned about. Gimli suffers from unwarranted anxiety." And I wave him away airily but he does not listen. Instead he drops to his knees beside me.

"And Estel too?" He asks with a smile, "For he has asked me to look at you also. Just give it up Legolas and let me see."

And so I do, because a part of me, a large part of me, wants him to see this wound. I want to be free of this black numbness and he may be the only one here who can achieve it. I know Aragorn cannot.

I shrug my arm free of my shirt and hold it out to him and he frowns slightly as he runs his hand across the fine silver scar that tracks there.

"It appears healed. . ." He murmers to himself softly.

"See!" I go to withdraw myself from his touch but he will not let me, instead he grasps my arm tightly.

"Let me in!" He insists. I know what he means and I do. Because it is the only way for him to see what is at the heart of this. _Not_ because I want to.

I can feel his fea, his power, cool, fresh and clear as it surges through me and to my surprise, at first he does not focus on the wrongness in my arm. Instead he takes the singed, damaged edges of my soul, the ones burnt by whatever was in that palantir and he makes them whole. Through his power the curled, withered outermost part of me becomes straight again.

"What is this!" He is surprised at it and pulls himself back away from me when he is done to find out more. "What is this. . . Corruption?" It is an interesting word to use but one which is very accurate I think.

"It is from that stone." I spit the words out in disgust. "When Aragorn first touched it, it burnt us. Something inside that was pure evil, it reached out and tainted me with its presence. This is why I do not want him near it! Do you not _see?_ Can you understand now how dangerous it is!"

His face is a solid mask of tension.

"I understand. But we were there, we made sure he was safe. The palantir is his to use, he has the right. But yes, it is not without risk."

"Oh. So you can keep him safe where I could not. Of course, forgive me. Great Noldor Lord that you are. What was I thinking? Of course a simple Silvan could not manage it." He sighs loudly in the face of my anger and that only serves to aggravate me more. Why will they not listen? Even now when he sees the damage done to my fea he will not.

"We do know more of the palantir than you Legolas. Of course we do, we are Finweian after all, at least a part of us is. However you, perhaps, know more of Sauron than Elrohir and myself. You have fought in the shadow of Dol Guldor and the Necromancer. I respect what you say to me. I _will_ listen."

I am left with my anger cut out from under me.

"Thank you." I have nothing more to say than that. It was all I wanted. Someone to acknowledge my fears about that stone were justified.

He returns his hands to my wound then, bending over me as he does so.

"There is something wrong here." He states the obvious with a frown.

"I know it." I say in reply, "I feel it, a numbness. A wrongness deep within it, but Aragorn cannot reach it."

He searches it out. Tendrils of his light wind their way in, seeking, finding, smothering it with a silver web of blinding light, or so it feels to me. They wall it off, encase it, and snuff it out.

And when he sits back on his heels in triumph I am left feeling elated. With the removal of that stain upon my soul my spirit soars.

"It is gone!" I cry in elation and he smiles broadly at the sight of my joy.

"A taint of evil." He said, "Possibly a poison, I think it would not have affected a mortal as badly as it has an Elven fea. Ever have the enemy sought to destroy our light."

I am washed clean. The dark clouds that weighed upon me have lifted and my way ahead is clear.

He departs then, with a light step. I think he is as pleased to have helped me as I am to have recieved his aid. Who knew I would ever be so grateful to a Noldor. I am not alone for long though as Gimli arrives, just as I am rejoicing in the brightness of the sky and the freshness of the wind. Gimli, who is always reluctant to climb has made his way stoically, with determination, all the way up here in search of me.

I am so lucky to have him.

But he is unhappy with me. When I tell him my decision with glee, for I am relieved to have made it, he rages at me. He thinks I am foolhardy and unwise. He cannot understand my determination to carry on. He argues and cajoles and when that fails he roars. But I am resolute.

I think briefly of telling him Elladan's theory of the sea-longing to try and ease his heart, but in the end I do not. It is a theory only, even though it does make increasing sense to me, and I have no guarantee it is right. But Gimli, if he knew, would cling to it like a light in the dark, in desperation and if it is not so, if in the end I am to die it would destroy him. I would rather he thinks Galadriel spoke of my death and it be proven wrong than to give him false hope.

He follows me down when I finally descend and still he mutters of my stupidity and provides me with arguments to change my mind. It is going to be a long ride with him behind me if he does not cease this! He continues his tirade as we pack, as I throw my things together and I feel my newfound calmness and bouyancy falter under his assault. I do not want to fight with him but my nerves are frayed and I will lose my temper soon.

In the end Gimli saves me from that when he suddenly and dramatically gives in. Perhaps he is aware of the bubbling of my temper and wishes to avoid a fight as much as I do. His shoulders slump and the fight drains out of him.

"Please, Legolas," He begs as a final attempt, and he almost succeeds. He is so dejected.

"Gimli," I say, and I force myself to be cheerful against his melancholy. "Our road has been a dark one since we first set foot from Imladris. Nothing has changed. We have known death might await us from the beginning. Let us do this together."

"Something has changed," he grumbles softly, "for I find my heart breaking at the though of losing a wild tree elf when before I did not care. You have ensnared me with your Elven magic Legolas though I swore I was immune to it."

I cannot help but laugh at that!

"I have no magic beyond my natural charm, Gimli." I throw my arm across his shoulders. "It is to be expected you could not resist it. There are not many who can."

So it is we walk out together, my arm around him as we descend the steps towards the somber group of Dunedain who await us. Aragorn is there, tense and solemn and Gimli scowls when he sees him. He has not forgiven him yet. Elladan has Arod with him ready for us and I am pleased to see them, both the horse and the Noldo.

Aragorn is wary as he approaches us and well he should be because Gimli fairly bristles with resentment.

"Legolas, you do not have to do this." He says, "Stay and ride with Theodan instead."

"I _do_ have to, Aragorn. I will not abandon you."

He places a hand gently upon my shoulder and I can see, now I am up close, the true extent of his exhaustion. I feel, despite the fact I am still angry, a twist of empathy for the position he finds himself in. He has no good options.

"We will go too close to the sea." He says quietly.

"The sea does not bother me." I reply, with slightly more bravado than I feel. "I do not let the Noldor control my fate. I am master of my own as I have told you before. You and I, Aragorn, our destinys are in our own hands. This is what I want and it is a choice, a fate, that you bear no responsibility for."

I will not having him bear guilt for a decision that was mine to make and mine alone.

"I cannot say I am not glad to have your company." He says this last quietly, almost beneath his breath as if he does not wish to tell me the truth in his heart. Perhaps he simply does not want Gimli, the raging dwarf to hear him for he looks towards him, where Gimli has taken himself to stand beside Arod, with apprehension.

"Gimli has not yet forgiven you, I think," I say with a smile as I follow his gaze. "And I warn you, if he does not quiet his objections during the ride I may be forced to gag him."

But he does not smile in response. He will not allow me to lighten his load.

"Have _you_ forgiven me?" He asks. "Can you forgive me?"

"I _can."_ I say then. "I can, but I am not sure I have yet but I _will_. You must let me brood a little longer Aragorn. It is what I do. Quick to temper and slow to forgive, my father says of me when he is despairing. But I always get there in the end. When you know me better you will understand it."

"I hope I have the chance." He says then, as he turns back towards his men and the path we face. "I hope the Valar see fit to give me the chance to know you."

"Ha!" I cry it aloud for I have had enough of this wallowing. "We shall not wait for the Valar to give it. We shall take the chance, Aragorn. You and I. And I would like to see them deny us!"

I clap him on the shoulder then as I move away, towards my dwarf who waits patiently for me.

"Let us do this, Aragorn! You Noldor spend too much time talking and not enough doing. Let us just get on and do this!"

"I am not Noldor!" He almost laughs as he replies. . . Almost! At last I am getting to him and I turn back with a smile.

"You could have fooled me, Aragorn."

You could have fooled me!"

TBC

 **This leads straight into the oneshot "Sacrifice" if you want to see what happens next.**

 **Thanks to all my reviewers...slowly working my way through replying after the delay in reviews showing up.**

 **One more chapter to go!**


	15. Chapter 15

**So I was wrong. I thought this would be the last chapter but it seems there will be just one more! Aragorn had more to say than I thought he did.**

 **Aragorn: Minas Tirith**

The healing halls are awash with blood and I am drowning in it. Everywhere I look there is death and they all call for me. "The King, The King," they cry. Everywhere I turn the healers clamour for my attention. I am buried under a sea of need. Is this how it will always be?

We have walked the Paths of the Dead, sailed down the Pelagir and saved the city, but at such a cost. My own grief almost chokes me but I cannot indulge it. I must bury it deep to be able to deal with these people and this pressure. I am beginning to resent them and I have only just arrived here. Will they not just leave me alone!

"My Lord?"

A boy stands in front of me, small, bedraggled and nervous. When I look up he ducks his head to avoid my gaze.

"What?" My initial response is harsh, the tone cutting, and I immediately regret it for he looks terrified and truly, he is only a child. When I was his age I ran through the corridors of Imladris, cosseted and pampered. This boy looks as if he has no one to care for him at all.

"What is it?" I soften my voice, at least I try to but I am tired and it is not easy.

"I bring a message from the elf."

Well that is not at all helpful.

"Which elf?" I say, struggling and failing to hide my annoyance but I simply do not have time for this. "There is more than one elf here. Which one sends a message?"

It will be Legolas or my Brothers, but who?

"The golden one!" The boy's eyes light up as he says it. It is easy to see he has been entranced. So it is Legolas then.

"His name is Legolas." I may as well make sure the boy knows that in case of any future message delivery, then I will not be left guessing as to who wants me. Of course Legolas could always have been sensible and told the boy his name himself.

"He says he remembers your words at the Hornburg and he calls for you," the boy continues, words tumbling over themselves in his desperation to be helpful. But I can only look at him blankly which causes him to panic.

"He said it was important I repeated that exactly. . He remembers your words and he calls for you."

And in my tiredness I cannot for the life of me remember what words Legolas might be referring to.

But as I sturggle to make my obstructive mind think properly, as I attempt to push through my fatigue to make sense of this, an image appears in my mind.

It is Legolas, pale like death, sitting in that dingy room in Helms Deep he and Gimli shared, leaning against the wall because he did not have the strength to hold himself upright. Legolas who had put himself at risk from a neglected injury because he could not find me, could not face the legion of dying men he had to fight through to reach me and the help he needed.

"If I am lost in a sea of mortals you cannot bring yourself to enter, promise me you will call for me. Early, before more damage is done. Send someone to find me. Promise me that and I promise I will come."

That is what I said to him then, and so that must be why he calls.

He is hurt.

"Was he injured?" I cry to the boy as I begin to push myself through the crowds and out into the light, "Was he hurt in some way when you saw him?" And the boy looks at me, panicked and afraid.

"There is so much blood everywhere My Lord," he replies in a rush, "I cannot tell who is hurt and who is not."

"Was he on his feet, then, when he spoke to you?" I am beginning to feel the very edges of panic myself for I have lost too much, I cannot lose another.

"He was on his feet."

That will have to do.

I cannot get the boy to give me any more details of Legolas' whereabouts beyond that he was near the Dunedain camp outside the city. The more I press him the more anxious he becomes so in the end I give up.

'Damn you, Legolas' I think to myself, 'Could you not have given me specifics when you sent for me?'

So I end up standing aimlessly in the middle of camp and he is nowhere to be seen.

The Dunedain, my people. . . Truly my people, move around me but the camp feels empty. Halbarad is not here and I cannot bear to think on that. I can not open the door to that wound upon my soul or I will not be able to go on as I have to. I keep it locked and firmly closed.

"Do you look for the Silvan, Aragorn?" One of them finally points me in the right direction, "He was here, I sent him to your tent." Well at least they did not have to carry him to the tent and he does not look too bothered either when he tells me. I feel the knot of panic in my stomach slowly loosen itself as I dare to breathe.

Legolas sits upon my bed when I find him. He is pale but alive, although I see quickly enough why he has called me, for a gash splits his thigh from hip to knee. In a man it would be serious, for an elf, it is not trifling but nor does it threaten him particularly.

"I did as you told me!" He smiles as I enter as if he is very pleased with himself. "Now there can be no moaning from you, or Gimli, that I do not care for myself."

"And you choose my bed to bleed over?" I complain, but I do not mean it. I am happy to see him in one piece, although there _is_ a fair amount of blood and it _is_ my bed.

"You took your time arriving. Surely you do not begrudge me a comfortable place to wait for you?" His teasing lifts my spirits for it is so unlike the deathly ill Legolas I saw at the Hornburg, and I feel the coiled tension within me begin to unwind. He needs my care but I give it freely. It is different to the endless drain of need placed upon me in the healing halls.

"I took my time arriving because you did not think to tell me where you were!"

I find my healing supplies in the corner of the room and begin to assemble what I need to repair this and stitch him back together.

"Where else would I be?" He cries in response, "Where else would I go to wait for you, great King?"

"Do not call me that, Legolas, it is the last thing I need from you." My words are sharper than they need to be and he flinches at the sound of them. It is not obvious but I see it and hurry to explain.

"Everywhere I look they are clamouring for the King. I have no room to breathe, and no one. . . No one to understand this." Halbarad would have understood this conflict within me. After so long struggling to reach the city, it simply suffocates me, but he is not here. He is gone. "I am just your friend, Legolas," I say in the end, "I am not a King to you and I do not want to be."

He gazes at me with serious eyes.

"This is your home, Aragorn. They welcome you after many, many years. It is the home you have been looking for."

This is something that has bothered Legolas since we first spoke of my lack of a place to call Home on the way to Isengard. Legolas, whose woods are so entwined with his soul, so much an integral part of him, cannot imagine having no home of his own. It is a totally foreign concept to him. And he has pondered on it and worried about it since then. He will not give up, I think, until he has forced himself to understand it.

"It is not my home," I sigh, "Perhaps it could be if I had the chance to settle here and build it back to what it should be. But at the moment . . . No, I do not feel I belong here."

I bend over him then and begin the slow process of stitching him back together. It is both methodical and calming. A soothing rhythm of healing that washes away the tension in my mind and lifts the burden slightly from my shoulders. Halbarad is not here but perhaps Legolas may understand how I am feeling about the weight of expectation the people inflict upon me? I determine to try and explain it.

"Truth be told." I say, "The road ahead of us is so dark. The people wish me to be a saviour and I cannot be what they want. I am tired and they exhaust me."

He is silent. At first I think it is simply because he pauses for thought, to frame his response—whatever it might be—the right way. But the silence continues beyond politeness and when I look up after placing my final stitch I see why.

He is not there.

He looks over my shoulder—at what I do not know—and his eyes are unfocused. First I wonder briefly if he sleeps for that is what it looks like, the strange, barely there, state he inhabits when he strolls through the dream-paths. But something is not right and I kid myself, thinking it could be so simple. I know what this is.

It is the sea.

He was like this that first evening after he heard the gulls. Here but not here. Lost and adrift amongst whatever it is that has captured his chaotic Elven mind. My brothers took control of him then, took him off and returned him slightly less whole than he was before but still Legolas.

And I?

I raged at myself and my inattention. I should have foreseen this. Why did I not understand Galadriel's message to him from the first? Now, with the benefit of hindsight, it seems so clear, so patently obvious and I could kick myself.

I raise a hand now to touch his cheek, gently I brush it across his skin trying to rouse him.

"Legolas?"

But he does not respond.

At once a wall of unshed tears fill up my eyes, for in that moment I understand the truth. Legolas _will_ know. He will know as he never has before, the pain of rootlessness. The truth of my lack of home he has struggled so hard to grasp is now upon him for Legolas has had his own home torn from him. He will understand it in a way far more personal than I would ever have wished for him.

He does not deserve this.

And it is my fault. Although he has absolved me of any responsibility for his decision to follow me still I know it is my fault.

"Legolas!"

I try again, more firmly to awaken him and bring him back but to no avail. So I turn my attention back to his wound. I will complete my healing here and then seek help for the other.

Healing Men is a battle. A struggle to force nerves and muscles together, a strength-sapping toil against the body's wish to fall apart. With elves it is different, so different. It is a dance. A sweet harmony of leading, encouraging, guiding, amongst a body that welcomes it. That already knows what it is I wish it to do. That only needs my light to add to the business it has already started.

Healing elves is a joy.

But when I have finished the dance with the fast disappearing damage in Legolas' leg I am aware of something else. Something "other" within him and I chase it.

All too soon I am in the edges of the sea which enthralls him. I can hear the waves, feel the spray, and the wind through my hair. If I can only grasp it, I think, Take it in my hands and throw it from him. So I reach for it in desperation and the next thing I know he is gone, completely gone from me and I am sitting on the floor in my tent beside him, an angry Brother above me.

"What do you think you are doing? Estel, you are a fool!" Elladan is furious. It is he who has dragged me away from Legolas and left me reeling.

"Never, never go there! Stay away from things you do not understand."

"I was trying to heal him. . ." My words sound clumsy to my ears. I am numb and more than a bit confused. "Then I felt the sea and I thought, if I could just take it from him."

Elladan drops to his knees before me then and takes my hands in his.

"The hands of the King are the hands of a healer," he says quietly, "but even the King's hands cannot heal a Silvan of the sea. You must not try is dangerous for the both of you."

"This is my fault. . . I must do _something!"_

 _"_ Then learn about it. Try to understand it. I will teach you how to help him when he is like this, safely. Let that be enough. Trust me on this."

He speaks as if he knows the sea-longing intimately and a nagging warning starts flashing in my mind.

"How do you know? How do you know what to do? How do you know I cannot take it? What if you are wrong?"

"How do I know?" He seems suddenly incredibly weary as he answers me. "My Father has taught me, as he taught me all my healing knowledge. We do not see this in Imladris, but amongst my Mother's people it is a different story."

Of course. Of course he will have knowledge of the sea from his time in Lothlorien. I so often am guilty of forgetting about my Brothers' Sindar side. They seem so Noldor to me.

"Go to bed, Estel." He says then. "Go and rest. Leave Legolas to me."

"He will not accept your healing." I protest, for Legolas is difficult to treat at the best of times and barely speaks to either of my Brothers.

"He will," Elladan assures me. "He will accept it in this." He places a protective hand upon Legolas' shoulder as he speaks. "He allowed me to heal him in Helms Deep, did he not?"

He is right in that.

"I have no bed to go to!" I try another tack then for I am reluctant to leave Legolas as vulnerable as he is and I have let him down all too often on this journey already.

"Take mine." Elladan is full of answers today. "Elrohir is there, so I know he will force some rest upon you."

It is a completely reasonable solution and yet still I dither anxiously about leaving.

"Estel," my brother grasps my shoulders and pulls me to him in a hug as he used to do so often when I was small. Something about the way I feel at the moment makes the comfort and security he offers me oh so welcome. "You must trust me with him," he whispers in my ear. "He is safe with me. I know he is precious to you, and I know you have already lost another important to you today. I promise I will bring Legolas back and I promise I will show you how to do the same. But not tonight. Tonight you must rest."

It is with a troubled heart I accept defeat but I cannot argue with his logic and I do trust him. I trust my Brothers above all others.

But still it hurts. . .

It hurts so badly to leave my lost and suffering friend in this lonely, wandering state without me.

And know it is because of me he is there.


	16. Chapter 16

My Brothers' tent is easy to find, even in the growing dark of evening, and when I enter Elrohir is already there.

"Estel!"

He looks up in surprise as I come in.

"Why are you here, did you not see your own tent? Do you need me?"

Of course I will always need him. I cannot imagine a time when I will not.

"Elladan sent me here to rest." I say by way of explanation. "He has commandeered my own tent for himself."

"For himself? Has he lost his mind?" Elrohir's brow furrows with disapproval. He can be so protective of me, even when it comes to his own twin, and I love him for it.

"Well, not for himself exactly. I exaggerate. Legolas is there, he is treating him."

And instantly Elrohir is defensive and resentful.

"Can he not keep himself safe for a single battle, that Woodelf? He is no help at all to you. He should have stayed in his woods."

His resentment of Legolas has been ongoing since his arrival and I have ridden it out in the hope he would soon be able to see for himself he was wrong. Tonight it is a step too far for I am tired and grieving and so I finally retaliate.

"Enough, Elrohir! You are better than this and Legolas does not deserve it. He is a fine warrior, perhaps even your equal and definitely your better with the bow. He has been loyal to a fault and he is my _friend_. I am sick of hearing this from you!

"I know you wished to come on this quest with me from the beginning. I know the fact you were not chosen hurt you. But that is not Legolas' fault. He did not ask to be selected, he did not put his own name forward. It is Elrond you should direct your anger at."

Elrohir sinks down to sit on the bed opposite me and slowly begins undoing his hair from the braids which tied it back during battle as if I have said nothing to him at all.

"I have." He replies eventually and it is a wry smile he gives me. "I have raged at my father endlessly, and to no avail for he does not listen. I may as well save my breath."

"You are here now." And I am glad, so glad that he is. I hope he knows that.

"That is more by my Grandmother's doing than my Father's." He gives his head a shake and the last of the braids come tumbling free. "Still," he continues, "perhaps there is something in what you say. The Woodelf has conducted himself well by all accounts. But he disparages my family and my heritage constantly. Do you not hear that? There is fault on both sides, Estel."

I know he is right. Legolas is far too vocal of his prejudice against the Noldor. I think, at times, he does it solely to wind Elrohir up. But it is late and I am exhausted. I do not want to get into an argument with my brother now, defending my friend whose behaviour is not perfect either. Their petty Elven squabbles simply annoy me. So I change the subject.

"It is not an injury from battle Elladan treats anyway. I have seen to that. It is the sea." I run my hand through my hair with a sigh. Even speaking of this makes me miserable. "Legolas was there, but then he was not. He would not even answer me. The sea has him."

"Ah." Instantly Elrohir softens. It is so strange, somehow the sealonging enables him to have an empathy towards Legolas a battle wound does not. Perhaps because it is such a peculiarly elven affliction. I do not understand it, but I will take it. Any improvement of things between them can only be good.

"Perhaps I should go there also?" Elrohir rises to his feet, a frown on his face, his now loose hair swinging across his face. "Elladan may have need of me and there are only the two of us here who can help the Silvan with this."

I do not want him to go. I am miserable and his presence is a comfort, but if it is to aid Legolas... well I will not stand in the way of that.

"Go," I say firmly, ignoring the small boy inside me who wants his big brother to stay. "Go, if you think Elladan has need of you."

"And will you promise me you will rest? Promise it, Estel so I can hold you to it!"

"I promise! Elrohir, I am not a child who needs looking after, not any more." I pick up a shirt he has tossed across the foot of the bed and throw it at him just to underline my point.

"Mithrander was here earlier," he grumbles as he dodges my rather pathetic throw. "He plans a day of meetings for you tomorrow, and discussion of tactics for the days ahead. You will need to be well rested before enduring that."

It is the last thing I need but I know it is necessary, still I cannot help the sigh that slips from my lips at the thought of it.

"Perhaps I will just run away in the night." It is truly what I wish I could do at this moment. Run away from it all.

"If you think you can run away from Mithrander you are a fool, Estel. It is not to be recommended. Believe me, I have tried it!"

And he smiles, one of his brilliant smiles we so seldom get to see these days, before he disappears through the tent flap and out into the cool evening air.

Then I am alone.

Sleep is not hard to find, in fact it ambushes me as soon as I lie down. In truth I cannot remember when I last slept for any decent amount of time.

But the dreams that find me are not pleasant ones, instead they are filled with death, pain and loss. I see Halbarad, standing beside me as we entered the Paths of the Dead.

"Through this door lies my death," he said.

Yet he still followed. He still stepped through that door behind me. He could have turned back and saved himself, so could have Legolas who sits in my tent nearby, a gaping hole torn in his soul where his home used to be. All because he followed me.

At times it feels as though my life is cursed. . . Or I am. The people I care for are doomed by their love of me. Halbarad, Legolas, even Arwen. She too will die because she loves me. I am at the centre of all their misery.

"Estel!"

A voice from beyond tears me from my dark dreams and I awaken, tears on my cheeks as I blink against the soft candlelight bathing the tent I lie in.

"Estel." The hand that touches my face is gentle. "Forgive me, your sleep did not seem refreshing."

For a second I am confused as to which twin this is, although I know them both in an instant usually. Sleep still blurs the edges of my mind and I struggle to focus.

"Elladan?" In the end I say the name with uncertainly.

"Of course it is Elladan." He gives me a sweet soft smile, just like the ones he used to bestow on me when I was a small boy. "Are you well?" He frowns as he says the last.

"It is nothing." I sit up and shake the vestiges of my dream from my mind. "After the battle . . . It lingers, you know what it is like."

And he sighs sadly at that,

"I do, Estel. I know too well, and it is never any easier. Still, on to more cheerful subjects, I thought you might wish for news of Legolas. Perhaps it will sweeten your dreams?"

And then I remember the state Legolas was in when I left him, that dreamy, far away, lost Legolas. Has Elladan been able to drag him back to us? I am almost afraid to know and so I hold my breath as I wait for his next words.

"Relax, Estel." He reaches out then to softly touch my arm. "He is well and back with us. I have left him sleeping. The dwarf is with him . . . And Elrohir."

"Elrohir! Is that wise Elladan."

For my brother is so harsh and intolerant of Legolas, he reacts so quickly and does not think before he speaks. How can that be good for a Legolas who is not entirely himself to begin with?

But Elladan disapproves of my doubting his twin. The scowl on his face tells me so.

"Of course it is wise. What do you take him for? Elrohir will hold his tongue, he can be gentle when he needs to. He will not hurt someone who already suffers. He came on his own accord to help me."

"I _know_ he did!" I reply, trying to defend myself. "But he has been so caustic in the past. Even this evening he poured scorn upon Legolas until he knew it was the sea-longing which ailed him. You cannot blame me for my concern."

"And now he knows it is the sea and he has helped me deal with it. . . As he did before, Estel, when Legolas was first struck by it. Or have you forgotten that?"

"I have not forgotten." I bury my face in my hands in frustration. Frustration at their elvishness, their ever so foreign ways of thinking, their ages old arguments and differences. I will never understand them, not completely, and at the moment that thought leaves me feeling so isolated and alone.

And Elladan feels that, of course he does. Something else that underlines they are not _my_ people, not really, for they can sense me and my feelings in ways I could never dream of.

Sometimes that is _so_ irritating.

"Forgive me," he says, "I do not mean to argue. You are tired and I would have you sleep, not spend the night in discussion with me about my dear brothers behaviour. Just know Legolas is in safe hands and tomorrow he will be as you remember him."

I am not so foolish as to believe that. Legolas will never be as I remember him again.

You could be forgiven for thinking he was though, when he saunters into my tent early the next morning.

"It is a glorious day, Aragorn," he says with one of his brilliant smiles as he throws himself across the bed next to me, completely unperturbed by the fact I am only half dressed. I have long since discovered modesty does not constrain Legolas.

He walks with a slight limp I notice, so his leg is still not all it could be. It is so small, barely a hitch of the leg, most men would not even notice but _I_ do. To me it is a glaring scar upon his usual elegance. But it does not slow him down, he is a tangle of graceful arms and legs as he drapes himself nonchalantly across the bed and grins up at me.

"Legolas, in case you have not noticed, I am getting dressed!"

It is all pretence, my indignation. I care not if he sees me, I am simply happy he seems well.

"A wise decision, Aragorn," he nodded sagely, his face composed and serious, though his eyes glint with mischief. "I have noticed these Gondorians much prefer people wearing clothes. Boromir did have a predilection for stumbling across me in states of undress by the river when we travelled and it embarrassed him no end. I did notice that. They are sure to be more accepting of you if you put your shirt on."

And I wonder with not a small amount of horror what he subjected poor Boromir to—states of undress? I did tell him on many occasions to ensure he had more privacy when indulging in his constant need for cleanliness and he scoffed at me every time.

"Well, thank you for the advice. How lucky I am to have such a wise Wood-elf accompanying me. What would I do without you?" I pull the shirt roughly over my head so I do not see his smile at that, but I hear his laugh, light and beautiful it is and it eases my heart to hear him happy.

"Mithrander has planned a long day of meetings for me to talk tactics with all and sundry, whatever collection of important nobles he has managed to find here. What a relief it is to see you are on your feet and will be at my side to help me deal with them." I tuck my shirt in, trying my best to look respectable and turn to him with a smile, but it freezes on my face, for he is silent in reply and suddenly there is no laughter left to see in him. No laughter at all.

"If you do not mind, Aragorn, I will ask to be excused from that." He hangs his head and avoids my gaze, his eyes flitting all around the tent but not at me. What have I said that is wrong? Sometimes he is such an enigma. "I am sure your esteemed Noldor brothers will be there to assist you anyway. You will not even notice my absense."

"Of course I will!" I feel a pang of guilt at that for I know he feels I have neglected him and Gimli since my brothers arrived. . . And perhaps I have. "Legolas, I _need_ you there. You and Gimli both. I respect your opinions greatly."

He is silent for a long time then. Silent and unmoving. He can be so intensely still when he wants to and it is disconcerting when it happens for usually he is in constant movement. When at last he speaks his voice is tight and low. Not the light, joyous, melody it was before.

"The sea calls to me, Aragorn." I have to strain to catch his words, so softly they are spoken. "It is in my ears constantly pleading with me and I struggle to resist it. Elladan promises me it will ease eventually, but for now. . . I cannot be sure it will not encompass me. I would not want to drift into its nothingness amongst these Men, whose respect you need. I would not wish to shame my father by appearing an aimless simpleton who cannot focus. I do not want to fall under their scrutiny until I can master it."

It is the first time ever he has spoken to me directly about the sea.

"Legolas," I reach out to him then, in desperation to comfort, but truly I do not know how to give it. "If that happens, it happens. No one will think badly of you."

"Ah but they will!" Suddenly he is forceful determination, "They will for they do not understand. _You_ do not understand it Aragorn, and if you do not, what hope is there for them? Gimli tells me the hobbits can be found in the healing halls and I think I will pay them a visit, for if anyone can distract me from the sea it will be them, and if they do not, well I do not think they will mind my inattention." A smile flits across his face then a small one, a ghost of one, at the thought of the hobbits who do cheer him so easily.

"Please do not ask me, my friend." He almost begs it of me and I am shamed. "Please do not ask me to do this with you today. Any other day, but not today."

And how can I refuse him that? Even though I need him, even though I feel bereft without Halbarad and Legolas' presence at my side would ease that, even though this is one of the most important days of my life and I realise, suddenly, he has somehow become one of my most important friends—I am not even sure how that has happened?

How can I refuse when the pain he labours under is by my own making. How can I refuse him if I care anything for him— and I do. . . I care more than I have understood until now.

"Of course." I place my hand over his in reassurance. "Of course, I ask nothing you cannot give freely. I have made so many mistakes with our friendship these last weeks. I will not make this one. Go to the hobbits. I want you to be well, Legolas. I only want you to be well."

And instantly his smile is back, a brilliant brightness casting light into all the shadows which plague me. He is a balm to my weary soul. And he waves a hand airily to dismiss my confessed transgressions against him.

"What mistakes, Aragorn? I remember none of them. I remember only a tired, burdened Man who has led us despite that with skill and dignity. Who is the reason we are here intact. Who is my friend and I love him."

He is more forgiving, I think, than I will ever be but when I open my mouth to say so he stops me before I even begin.

"I will not hear it, Aragorn, any scorn you would pour upon yourself. I do not believe it. I meant what I said, that day we rode to Isengard. I know I was not exactly myself, that my tongue ran away from me but I remember it and I meant it. I meant it then and I mean it now. I admire you and I will follow you to the end, and I am proud to do it. I told Glorfindel I would see that crown placed upon your head and I will do.

"For the love of the Lord of the White Tree, I follow you, Aragorn, and it will always be so."

He pulls the rug out of under me with his assertion of friendship and his love. I had no idea he remembered anything from that nightmare of a ride when I accidently drugged him into a chaotic, insensible being. I have felt so alone, so grief-stricken, so incapable of what is being asked of me. A curse upon all those that know me. And now he comes, a blazing light across my life, the wings under my spirit, an unjudgemental love to keep my whole.

"I do not deserve you, Legolas." It is all I can say, all I can force my bewildered mind to enunciate, and it is oh so true.

But he replies with a joyful smile upon his lips,

"Just wait until you have known me for more than a brief moment in time, then you will discover, as they all do in the end, how annoying I can be when I try." He laughs at himself then and it is such a joyful sound. "You will be saying you do not deserve the trouble I bring you _then_ , Aragorn!" He is on his feet and dancing as he says it and truly he is at his best when he is like this.

I smile in return for I cannot resist it. He lifts me, as he has lifted all of us through the dark days, despite the fact he is wrestling with his own darkness.

And I think, as I watch him—as I bask in his friendship—that perhaps, just possibly, for the first time in my life, I have begun to discover the very beginnings of home.

 **And that my Friends is the End!**

 **Thanks to each and and everyone of you for all your wonderful reviews along the way. :-)**


End file.
